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THE BOOK OF THE TABLE 



4 



Kettnee'S 



BOOK OF THE TABLE 



A MANUAL OF COOKERY 

PRACTICAL 

THEORETICAL 

HISTORICAL 



These are not fruita forbidden : no interdict 
Defends the touching of these viands pure; 
Their taste no knowledge works, at least of evil, 
But life preserves, destroys life's enemy, 
Ilmiger, with sweet restorative delight. 

Paradite Segatned 



LONDON 
DULAIJ AND CO. SOHO SQUARE 

1S77 






HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY 

BEQUtST OF 

MRS. CHESTER N. GREENOUGH 

SEPTEMBER 20, 1926 






Cy^'^ 



v_. 




Hazell, Wataoii, and V iney Piiiiteni, Loud»u luid AylaabuiT 



TO 

GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 

One of tlic most accojnplislud men of his iiviCy the readiest 
of writers, ihe rarest of humourists^ a most zvinning 
orator^ a most cunning draughtsmany laden zvith a learn- 
ing which would crush most men, and blest with a heart 
which is almost that of a woman; lu probably knows 
more about the history of cookery i7i all cowttries of the 
world than any man alive, and to him tlierefore these 
pages are inscribed with sincere admiration. 



INTEODUCTION 




jHOEVEB writes a new book on cookery has to 
begin with an apology — ^there are so many, 
and most of ihem so bad. AU contain good 
ideas, original or borrowed ; but most of them 
are chaotic and overlaid with rubbish, — ^the wildest con- 
fusion of receipts, distinctions without differences, and 
endless repetitions, — the result of stupidity, of vanity, and 
of slavish deference to authority. A trifling variation is 
given to a well-known dish ; a new name is bestowed upon 
it to flatter somebody's vanity; and then follows another 
and another receipt to choke up the cookery books and to 
bewilder their readers. People run after novelties which are 
not novelties at all, and in the turmoil of details lose sight 
of the central idea which ought to govern the composition. 
Much as the foUy of new names and the slavishness of 
imitation may have to do in producing such intolerable 
confusion, the worst part of it unhappily is due to sheer 
ignorance and stupidity, as a few examples will show. 

In the first place, we find a multitude of receipts where 
one is enough. There is a well-known soup which appears 
in cookery books under liiine or ten different names — 
Brunoise, Jardiniere, Printanier, Chiffonnade, Mac^doine, 
Julienne, Faubonne, Paysanne, Flamande, Mitonnage, 
CroAte au Pot. The same book may not use all these 
names, but it is puzzling to find one book using one name 

1 



hitroduction 



and another another. One of them^ the Julienne^ is pecu- 
liar, but the peculiarity is nearly lost in modern cookery ; 
and we may say that practically all ten are one and the same 
soup, with differences which are wholly accidental. Put 
into the soup a variety of vegetables such as a gardener's 
wife might filch in her apron, and there is the soup a la 
Jardiniere. It is also the soup & la Mac^doine. Put into it 
the early spring vegetables, and there is the spring soup. Put 
into it the modest assortment, the onion and the cabbage, 
which a peasant's wife might command, and which corres- 
ponds very much to the limited supply of any winter garden, 
and there is the soup ^ la Pay sanne. Put in crusts of bread, 
either because vegetables are scarce, or because you are 
afraid of them, and there is CroClte au Pot. Put in 
Brussels sprouts, and there is something to suggest a new 
name — Flemish soup — ^because Brussels is the capital of the 
Flemish country. There is nothing scientific in this. It 
is a mere senseless heaping up of names and receipts, to the 
ruin of cooks and to the incessant disappointment of the 
dinner-table. 

In other cases we have a single receipt where we might 
well have half a dozen — as witness aspic jelly. The science 
of the kitchen is so proud of its achievement in this one 
receipt, that it rests in its triumph, makes no attempt at 
variety, and afflicts us with one eternal cold meat sauce. 
The English have been often satirised for their one sauce — 
the so-called melted butter. But French cookery, with all 
its pretensions, ought to be ashamed of the monotony pro- 
duced by aspic. In England espedaUy, where cold meats 
are in great request, the monotony of aspic is too palpable. 
The dinner of Englishmen, far more than of foreigners, 
implies a large joint of meat which has afterwards to be 
eaten cold. There is cold meat at breakfast, cold meat at 
luncheon, cold meat at supper, cold meat all the day — which 
is eaten with pickles for lack of good sauce. Here was a 
great opportunity for cooks to provide appropriate sauces. 



Introduction 



The most appropriate sauce for^cold meat is a jelly, or half 
jellj, of some sort; and the French have invented one 
jellied sauce to go with cold viands — aspic. It is not to be 
supposed that one and the same sauce will suit everj meat 
alike, every taste alike, or even the same taste at different 
times. We cannot take the same everlasting aspic with 
cold meat all the year round. But the cookery books, 
. with scarcely an exception, give one single receipt for 
savoury jelly, and they call it aspic, though it does not 
contain a particle of aspic in it. What aspic is will be 
explained in its proper place.- Here it must be enough to 
point out that, be it what it may, it is absurd to use this 
one precious jelly with a false name, morning, noon, and 
night, and all the year through, with fish, flesh, and fowl, 
in season and out of season. Francatelli — and he may be 
taken as a type of all the great French cooks — gives a most 
elaborate receipt for aspic jelly; and he is so satisfied with 
it that, having to prepare a cold supper^for 300 people, he 
works it up in every one of his fifty-six dishes which are 
not sweet nor hot. At the end of his great work, now in 
its twenty-third edition, and of such authority that many 
of the best people swear by it, he gives a great many bills 
of fare which are set forth as models for imitation. Most 
of these are for hot dinners ; but in two of them he shows 
what modem cookery can do in the way of a cold refection. 
It will be enough to quote his bill for the cold viands of 
his supper : — 

"Ball Suppeb for 300 Persons — /Sfainwi«r. 

8 Grosses Pieces on ornamental stands. 

2 Raised pies of fowls and ham 2 Hams ornamented with aspic 

with truffles, garnished with j^Uy. 

aspic jelly. 2 Boars' heads ornamented with 

2 Galantines of poniards, with aspic jelly. 

aspic jelly. 



Introduction 



48 Cold Entries, diahed up on silver plates. 

6 Groups of plovers' eggs, gar- 6 Mayonnaises of fowl. 

nished with aspic jelly. 6 Mayonnaises of fillets of 

6 Plates of cold roast fowls with salmon. 

aspic jelly (cut up). 6 Entries of lamb cutlets k la 

6 Plates of tongue in slices, gar- Bellevue. 

nished with aspic jelly. 6 Entries of chaud-froid fri- 

6 Lobster salads. cassee of chicken. 

36 cold roast fowls and 4 tongues, to be kept in reserve for the 
purpose of replenishing these entries as they are eaten." 

It may be obeerved that in some of the dishes thus enmne- 
rated there is no appearance of the ubiquitous aspic ; but 
in turning to the receipts for their preparation, even to that 
for lobster salad, it will be found that they all call in the 
aid of aspic jelly. And this is the result of science — 
this the height of art It produces, with such elaborate 
forms and majestic ceremonies, an aspic jelly without aspic, 
that, exhausted in the effort, it can proceed no further, and 
seems to think that here at last, in this supreme sauce, 
we have a sure resting-place — the true blessedness — the 
ewigkeit. 

Too much art in cookery may be as fatal as too little ; 
and it is impossible to read some of the receipts of the 
master-cooks \^ithout wishing that they could forget high 
art and come down to common sense. For an odd illustra- 
tion, take the sauce which is called Bobert — originally a 
Roebuck sauce, now a sauce for broiled or roasted pork 
and for goose. Its history will be found under its proper 
name. English taste has long since found out what are 
the proper adjuncts for roasted or broiled pork — namel}', 
onion, apple, and mustard. The onions, combined some- 
times with sage, are presented in a mash ; there is apple 
sauce with a gentle acidity ; there is the pungent bitter of 
the mustard ; and each of these flavouring elements is 
kept apart upon the plate. The old French cooks deter- 
mined on a similar combination ; but the ingredients were 



Introduction 



mixed together in the kitchen, and served up as Sauce 
Robert It was simply a mash of onions well browned in 
butter, with the addition of some French mustard, con- 
taining, it is needless to say, tarragon vinegar, the acid 
of which takes the place of the apple in the parallel English 
arrangement. Simple as it is, it would be difficult, by the 
most elaborate devices, to concoct a sauce better suited for 
its purpose and more relished. The receipt for it will be 
found, in all its simplicity, in the classical work of Beau* 
villiers — the first cookery book which had any pretension 
to scientific accuracy. 

But ask for the Sauce Bobert at clubs and restaurants, 
whether in Paris or London : it is impossible to recognise 
it in the liquid which is now served under its name. The 
great chefs cannot rest content with the simplicity of the old 
receipt They glory in high art and all the wonders of 
science ; and they have improved upon the sauce until its 
fine gusto is lost in a weak civilisation. The Sauce Bobert 
was bountiful in its onions — indeed, illimitable. In the 
sauce of the modem Boulevards the quantity is reduced : 
onions are not polite enough — and sometimes they are 
intermingled with chopped gherkins. In the Sauce Bobert 
there was no thought of wine or ketchup, nor any thought 
of vinegar beyond the little tarragon vinegar involved in 
French mustard. But one set of artists (Bernard, Dubois, 
and Goufi!£ at their head) now load it with wine, and even 
ketchup ; another set (Francatelli at their head) drench it 
with vinegar, making it a kind of Sharp sauce ; while 
there are cookery books whose writers think that they 
cannot have too much of a good thing, and drown the 
sauce in wine and ketchup as well as vinegar. If cooks 
wish to invent a new sauce, let them give it a new name ; 
and if diners want to have with their pork-chops a sharp 
sauce like that served on the Boulevards, let them have it 
— ^the taste is intelligible. But if they want Sauce Bobert, 
they surely ought to get it in the simplicity of the old 



Introdtcction 



receipt, which is perfect in its waj. It is absurd to spoil 
a good sauce in the name of high art, and to muddle 
our cookery books by a vainglorious falsification of the 
receipts. 

Take another example of mystification, and it must be 

added, of exceeding folly — to use no stronger epithet It 

is connected with the illustrious name of Chd^teaubriand. 

One of the foremost clubs in London one day changed its 

cook; and its members were astonished to find that the 

steak which had formerly been served to them under the 

name of flet de hoeuf was now always announced as a 

Ch&teaubriand. The cook was called to account. What 

was the meaning of the new name ? Why should plain 

Englishmen be puzzled with a new name — ^the slang of 

the kitchen ? Why should they not, as of old, get the 

fillet to which they were accustomed ? The cook had really 

nothing to say. He could only tell that a Ch&teaubriand 

was the &shionable name in Paris for a steak cut from the 

best part of the fillet, and that it was thicker than the 

ordinary fillet-steaks — ^nearly two inches. The members 

of the dub were not satisfied with this explanation; and 

to the great disgust of the chef, who felt ilie sublimity of 

the name of Chilteaubriand, the order was given that 

henceforth a steak from the fillet should be announced as 

before on the bills under the time-honoured name oi JUet 

de hcBuf, 

They were quite right ; and even if the cook, better 
informed^ had been able to give them the true history and 
meaning of a Gh&teaubriand, there can be little doubt that 
they would have still arrived at the same decision. He 
was correct in stating that a Ch&teaubriand is cut from 
the best part of the fillet, and is nearly twice the ordinary 
thickness of a steak : but is this all ? is this enough to 
suggest the name of Chslteaubriand ? The thickness of 
the steak involves a peculiar method of cooking it It is 
so thick that by the ordinary method it might be burnt on 



Introdtiction 



the surface when quite raw inside ; and therefore — ^though 
the new method is neglected and is even forgotten very 
much — it was put upon the fire between two other slices 
of beef, which, if burnt upon the grill, could be thrown 
away. It may still be asked, what has this to do with 
Chateaubriand^ that his name should be attached to a steak 
so prepared ? Here we come into a region of culpable / 
levity. Ch&teaubriand published his most famous work I 
under the name of Le GAiie du Christianisme, The 
profane wits of the kitdien thought that a good steak sent 
to the fire between two malefactor steaks was a fair parody 
of the G^ie du ChriaHanigme. If I remember rightly it 
was at Champeaux' in the Place de la Bourse that this 
eccentric idea took form and burst upon Paris. As to the 
amount of sense or of folly displayed in the selection of a 
name, it is needless to say a word ; as to the good sense 
of tlie mode of cooking the steak^ judgment is pronounced 
in the fact that, though the Ch&teaubriand still remains 
as thick as ever, it is rare now to see it grilled between 
two other steaks-^^that being too extravagant Indeed, in 
Gouffii's great work on cookery, which must always be 
mentioned witli respect for the good sense and good taste 
which pervade it^ there is not a hint given that the Cb&teau- 
briand is to be cooked, or was ever cooked, between the 
two robber steaks. Most cookery books say not one word 
of the Chateaubriand, which ranks now as the prime steak 
of the French table, and which appears in Parisian dinner 
bills to bewilder the benighted EngUshman with a mag- 
nificent but unintelligible name. 

It is scarcely worth while to speak of minor follies. 
When we Gnd in the most popular cookery books of 
France that roast mutton and lamb are designated Bosbif 
de mouton, and Bosbif d'agneau, we recognise that no 
great harm is done, and only laugh at the awkwardness 
of a people who cannot detect their own word bceuf when 
they see it in a difierent spelling. Or again, when in 



8 Introduction 



English cookery books we find that Palestine soup is not 
what we should expect — a soup common in the Holy 
Land, — ^but one made of tubers derived from America, 
and called, by corruption of Girasole, Jerusalem artichokes, 
we may rejoice over a jest, and need not complain of prac- 
tical injury. The disease of the cookery books goes very 
much deeper than this. Dr. Johnson hit the truth a 
century ago. *' I could write," he says, " a better book of 
cookery than has yet been written. It should be a book 
upon philosophical principles. Pharmacy is now made 
much more simple. Cookery may be made so too. A 
prescription which is now compounded of five ingredients 
formerly had fifty in it. So in cookery. If the nature of 
the ingredients be well known, much fewer will do." There 
is no need to talk here of philosophy : all that is wanted 
is common sense. And one thing is pretty evident — that 
whereas in the laboratory of the chemist elements are 
minimised and processes are simplified to the last degree, 
in the laboratory of the kitchen we see the very reverse, 
and it is considered the height of science and of art to 
multiply ingredients and to make processes as intricate 
and ceremonious as possible. An artistic chef seems to 
be ashamed of a simple receipt ; although it should be 
the pride of science to reduce labour and to aim at unity. 
The preparation of a French sauce will soon be as full of 
forms and ceremonies as the dances and incantations round 
the witches* cauldron, with its 

Eye of newt and toe of frog, 
Wool of bat and tongue of dog. 
Adder's fork and blindworm's sting, 
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing. 

The multiplication of ingredients and processes with a 
long tedious ritual, more than half of which is idle, leads 
directly to the multiplication of receipts — one scarcely 
differing from another. There is an old saying that too 
many cooks spoil the broth ; and much the same is true of 



Introduction 



cookery books. The multiplication of receipts destroys 
their asefblness and drives the reader to despair. It is 
the ambition of an author to make his book as complete 
as possible and to neglect nothing of value. But he soon 
finds that every one who starts a new receipt is fanatical 
over it : there is nothing like it, nothing to be compared 
with it — a new light has dawned upon the world since it 
was discovered — ^and whoever has not got his pet secret is 
in outer darkness. The pet secret may turn upon a detail 
which is of no importance — ^but all the same^ his fancy 
has vivified it i and whoever uses black pepper where he 
would use cayenne, or should venture on claret where 
he declares for port, is a miserable ass bereft of under- 
standing. The author having to choose a receipt is over- 
whelmed by the resounding asseverations of enthusiastic 
gastronomers; and unable to pick and choose among them, 
or to assert his independence of judgment, determines to 
be on the right side, and puts down higgledy-piggledy all 
the applauded receipts that come in his way. There has 
scarcely ever been a cookery book written of which the 
most cursory reader could not say that from this cause 
alone-the mtdtipUcity of nnoertain reoeipts-it contains 
an immense amount of surplusage. It is a garden full of 
weeds and good plants run to seed. The prescriptions 
confuse and sometimes confute one another, and not one- 
half of them are convincing. The last new cookery book 
published in this country proclaims as its recommendation 
that it contains 10,000 receipts; and nearly all the popular 
handbooks in the same strain advertise the immense 
number of their nostrums. Who wants 10,000 prescrip- 
tions in a country where most of us get on all our lives 
with a few dozen good dishes, and where even the fancies 
of an epicure are limited to a few scores? It has been 
calculated that there are something like 500 soups; and 
CarSme used to boast that he had turned out about 300. 
By £Ekr the greater number of these he probably prepared 



lo Introduction 



but once in his life ; and it is quite certain that the 
great majority of them were trifling repetitions one of 
another. How soups can be multiplied we have already 
seen in the various forms of garden soups, where clear 
gravy is used. 

After all, it is probable that receipts would not be so 
multiplied in the books but for a great practical £siUacy. 
It is always assumed that a cookery book will make a 
^ cook. Nothing can be more false. If a man or a woman 
has not the soul of a cook, the most minute receipts will 
only end in failure. Sganarelle is made to say by Moli^re 
— " B6ti, bouilli — ^m£me chose ;" and it is a literal verity 
^ that there are persons pretending to be cooks who are as 
{ ignorant as Sganarelle, and who cannot tell what is the 
essential peculiarity of roasting, or why some meats are to 
be roasted and others only stewed. K on the other hand 
the soul of the cook is tiiere, it is almost always enough 
to give general rules and leading principles, and to leave 
the cook to make variations according to his taste or his 
means. Lord Byron, in Italy, gave the most minute direc- 
tions for his plum-pudding ; it came out like a broth, and 
was served in a tureea There are cooks in the best 
Idtchens who have been shown ever so often how to clarify 
broth : yet they fail, and have to try over and over again 
before they can succeed The great thing, it cannot be 
too often repeated, is to teach a principle, and then its 
application to special cases follows as a matter of course. 
He who has learnt to broil a steak properly does not 
require a special receipt for broiling a mutton chop ; and 
he who can make half a dozen saupes has really learnt how 
to make half a hundred without extra receipts. 

It is well to be particular in receipts ; but it is idle to put 
out of sight the fact that particulars vary every day, in every 
country, and in every household. The sugar of England 
is a good deal sweeter than the sugar of France. The 
salt of France is much more salt than that of England. 



Introduction 1 1 



The quantities to be used therefore must continually vary. 
Again, everybody knows that vegetables are not alike in 
flavour. Some apples are comparatively tasteless ; so are 
some carrots ; and one lemon is sharper than another. 
Therefore in one kitchen a lemon, an apple, or a couple of 
carrots will go further to flavour a sauce than double the 
number in another kitchen. Car6me praised the beef of 
England : he said it was perfectly beautifid, tender, deli- 
cious to taste, pleasant to behold ; but he also said that it 
wanted the unctuosity of the French beef, and would not 
lend itself to sauces and rich consomm^ without using up 
far more than would be required in France. What does 
this mean, but that the quantities of beef used for soup 
in one country will not do for the same soup in another 
country? It depends on the butcher. It is the same 
with ham, — ^the flavour of which is not to be measured by 
weight. A hundred pounds of French ham will not yield 
the flavour contained in ten pounds of Spanish, German, 
or English hams. It would be easy to multiply such ex- 
amples, showinfir that quantities are deceptive, because they 
are mdntelligible apart from qualify. Wn the reader 
comes to the article on Soups, he will find that the very 
highest authorities differ widely on the grand point as to 
the quantity of water with which beef broth Aould be made. 
Some tell us to make it with equal quantities of beef and 
water ; others tell us to use four times as much water as 
beef. The broth which results varies prodigiously in 
strength ; so that the simple broth of one cook is often as 
good as the double broth or consomm^ of another. Add to 
this the uncertainty of the heat of fires, on which some 
flavours greatly depend, and it must be evident that the 
attempt to attain precision of detail in receipts is wholly 
illusive. We can at best give indications and approxima- 
tions, but numerical accuracy is out of the question. 

In one point, however, accuracy is well within our reach ; 
and nearly all the cookery books — even those produced under 



1 2 Introduction 



the eyes of great artists — ^make a mock of it : we can be 
accurate in language. In the whole range of literature 
and science, there is nothing to be found comparable to the 
inaccuracy and corruption of culinary language. It is 
something astounding. It seems as if all the ignorances in 
the world had conspired together to darken speech and to 
stupefy cooks. There is no science of cookery possible 
without a correct phraseology. Science is but another 
name for clear and classified knowledge ; and the first step 
to it is precision of speech. It is for this reason that in 
the following pages the reader will find more than usual 
attention paid to the naming of dishes and to their history. 
At the present moment the vocabulary of dinner is a mass 
of confusion and ridiculous mistakes, which is every day 
becoming worse and worse through the ignorant imporLtioi 
of French names (originally themselves bad enough) into 
English bills of fare. It comes of abominable pretension. 
A leg of good English mutton — the best in the world — ^will 
be entered as a Grigot of Pr^ Sal6. What on earth has 
become of the English Southdowns that they should be 
described as a French Salt Marsh ? I have seen a fillet- 
steak served with tomatos entered as " Filet de Boeuf & 
rOrientale," under a notion that tomatos came originally 
from the East and not from the West, and that the people 
of the East are given to beef. This is not merely preten- 
sion : it is perfidy. You order the Oriental fillet expecting 
one thing, and you get something quite different. 

Some people may innocently argue, — "What harm is 
there in a wrong word so long as the dish is good ? We 
eat the food and not the name." But this is to mistake 
human nature. A hungry taste is apt to be querulous, and 
resents disappointment. Also there is a peculiar fastidi- 
ousness in what has never yet been thoroughly analyzed — 
that peculiar condition known as Acquired taste. Perhaps 
there is no such thing in persons who are grown up as a 
perfectly pure and natural taste. The taste may be sound 



Introdtution 1 3 



and even fine^ but it is always more or less influenced by 
custom and by association, until it breeds an Acquired 
taste which is not to be reasoned with and which wiU not 
be denied. The Greenlander takes to tallow ; the southern 
Frenchman glories in garlic ; the East Indian is mighty 
in pepper. No force of reasoning can prove to them that 
other tastes are better ; they have an Acquired taste which 
insists on being pampered. And precisely the same phe- 
nomenon occurs, though in a less marked way, when we 
get a dish which we know, which we expect, and which 
does not correspond to its name. A very pleasant Julienne 
soup can be made without sorrel ; but those who look for 
the sorrel always feel that without it the Julienne is a 
&ilure. An acquired taste has been created, which sufiers 
under disappointment as cruelly as when the Greenlander 
is deprived of his whale-blubber, the Gascon of his garlic, 
and the East Indian of his curry. 

Bad as it is, however, it is not on the perfidy or the pre- 
tension of wrong names that it is most necessary to insist. 
The great wrong about them is that they are a bar to all 
chance of science and of progress in cookery. An idea 
has got abroad and has been much fostered by French 
authorities, that cookery as practised by the great artists is 
perfect, and that there is nothing more to be done except 
to ring the changes on what these artists have achieved. 
It is probable enough that we shall not get many more new 
foods or combinations of savour ; but it is quite certain that 
with the progress of science we ought to attain our results 
by simpler and shorter processes, with aim more precise and 
with success more assured. But nothing at all is possible 
until we first of all understand each other by agreeing 
upon terms about which there shall be no mistake. It is 
for this reason that in the following pages I have dwelt so 
much upon the mere grammar and vocabulary of the 
kitchen. Till we have settled our definitions there is no 
use in talking. And th<erefore, while in the receipts which 



1 4 hitroduction 



are to follow I have done my ntmost to simplify processes, 
to discard mere subtleties and variations, and to cnt down 
useless expenses and tedious labour, I have gone first and 
foremost on the principle that the greatest waste of all in 
the kitchen is the waste of words. It is a simple fact of 
which I undertake to produce overwhelming evidence, that 
the language of the kitchen is a language ^^ not under- 
standed of the people." There are scores upon scores of 
its terms in daily use which are little understood and not 
at all fixed ; and there is not upon the face of this earth 
an occupation which is carried on with so much of unintel- 
ligible jargon and chattering of apes as that of preparing 
food. Not only cooks but also the most learned men in 
France have given up a great part of the language of 
the kitchen as beyond all comprehension. We sorely want 
Cadmus among the cooks. All the world remembers that 
he taught the Greeks their alphabet It is well-nigh for- 
gotten that he was cook to the king of Sidon. I cannot 
help thinking that cooks would do well to combine with 
their cookery, like Cadmus, a little attention to the 
alphabet. 

Although cookery is not to be excused for its want of 
science and still less for its deficiency in letters, it is 
essential to add that the chemistry of food is, at least in 
point of science, nearly as backward as its cookery. Of course 
the chemists are extremely scientific in their methods 
and dogmatic in their conclusions ; but if the object of 
science be knowledge, and not mere show, I should like 
to ask, what has chemistry with all its paraphernalia 
done for the science of food? Here is its last result, 
embodied in a little table, which is borrowed from Dr. 
Henry Letheby's book On Food. It is a table of what 
is called " Nutritive Equivalents— calculated according to 
the amounts of Nitrogen in the dry substances — ^human 
milk being 100.'' There never was a greater farce than 
the following table of Nutritive Values : — 



Introduction 



15 



Yeoetable 



Rice 


. 81 


OatB 


. 138 


Potatoes . . . . 


84 


White Bread . 


142 


Maize 


. 100 


Black Bread 


. 166 


Rye 


106 


Peas 


239 


RadiBh . . . . 


106 


Lentils . . . . 


276 


Wheat . . . . 


. 119 


Haricots . . . . 


283 


Barley 


. 325 


Beans . . . . 


. 320 



AmJLLL 



Human Milk . 


. 100 


Lamb 


4 




. 833 


Cow's Milk 


. 237 


White of Egg . 




. 846 


Yolk of Egg . 


. 305 


Lobster 




. 859 


Oysters 


. 305 


Skate 






. 859 


Cheese 


. 331 


1 Veal 






. 873 


Eel . 


. 434 


Beef 






. 880 


Mussel 


. 528 


Pork 






. 893 


Ox liver . 


. 570 


Turbot 






. 898 


Pigeon 


. 766 


Ham 






. 910 


Mutton 


. 773 


Herring 






. 914 


Salmon . 


. 776 











It appears from this that white of egg is more than 
twice as nourishing as the yolk, and that a red herring is 
more than nine times as nourishing as mother's milk. 
What can be the worth of a science that works out such 
incredible results ? Dr. Letheby has himself pointed out, 
with his wonted candour, that not only would these results 
— even if they were trustworthy — be valueless, since they 
take no account of the digestive labour required to utilise 
the different substances, but also that they cast doubt on 
the received chemical doctrine that the nitrogenous ele- 
ments of food are the most nutritious. In another part 
of the same work he is driven to confess that, much as 
physicians talk about our livers and the secretion of bile, 
their true fianction in the digestion of food is at present 



1 6 Introduction 



unknown. It is notorious, too, that not one creature in 
the universe knows what is the use of the spleen ; and the 
anatomists and physiologists are still discussing what means 
the pancreas or sweetbread. When thus, upon the simplest 
of all questions in the science of food, diemists and physi- 
cians are alike at fault and impotent, we need not be too 
hard upon the cooks because thej also are weak in science 
and lisp much follj. 



BOOK OF THE TABLE 



BOOK OF THE TABLE 




[6SINTHE. — There are two terrible verses in 
the Revelation of St John. ^^And the third 
angel sounded his trumpet, and there fell a 
great star from the heavens, burning like a 
lamp, and it fell upon a third part of the rivers and 
upon the fountains of waters. And the name of the 
star was called Absinthe ; and the third part of the 
waters became Absinthe, and many men died of the waters 
because they were made bitter." Of all the liqueurs, 
absinthe has the reputaticm of being the most pernicious,. 
It is harmless enough in a small or occasional dose ; but 
the French army got into the way of drinking it largely 
and constantly in the Algerian campaigns of 1844-7 ; 
from them it spread to the boulevards of Paris^ where it 
became so much a favourite that the five o'clock gossip at 
the cafSs every day came to be named the hour of absinthe ; 
and Switzerland, which is supposed to make the best sort, 
imports into France yearly more than 2/)00,000 gallons of 
it When taken in excess, or when taken regularly, it is 
found to be so hurtful that it is now forbidden in the 
French army and navy. The Swiss absinthe, which is so 
much admired and which is so baneful, is, it may be added, 
not made entirely from wormwood proper, but from plants 
related to it — such as southernwood, and another which 
takes its name from the invulnerable Achilles. 



20 Achilles 



Achilles^ named the godlike, a wonderful grill-cook. 
The most famous of the poets made an epic of his wrath, 
and describes how he cooked a steak. Achilles is more 
than an individual — he is a tjpe. He is the type of a great 
chief unbending from the cares of state to luxuriate in 
art. It is a matter of history that Abraham, the father 
of the faithful, could cook a veal cutlet. Louis XYIII. 
(Louis le D^sir^) has the credit of a great discovery in 
cookery — a dish of truffles to be eaten with a pur^e of 
ortolans. He not only invented this dish, but kept it a 
secret of his cabinet, and invariably prepared it with his 
own hands. It is fair to add that all great chiefs have 
not shown such discernment. A statue of Achilles is raised 
in Hyde Park to the honour of the Duke of Wellington, 
who was indifferent to the triumphs of the table. His cook, 
F^lix, could not stay with him, and came with tears in his 
eyes to Lord Seaford, begging that he would engage him at 
reduced wages or no wages at all, for he was determined 
not to remain at Apsley House. ^^ Has the Duke been 
finding fault ? " asked Lord Seaford. " Oh no," said 
poor F^lix ; ^' I would stay if be had : he is the kindest 
and most liberal of masters ; but I serve him a dinner that 
would make Ude or Francatelli burst with envy, and he 
say nutting ; I go out, and leave him to dine on a dinner 
badly dressed by the kitchen-maid, and he say nutting. Dat 
hurt my feelings." 

AcQUA d*Oro. — ^There are many names for this liqueur, 
French, German, and English ; but if we are to be just 
we shall always hold to the Italian name, which every one 
understands. It is the Italians who invented the liqueur in 
the thirteenth century, and they brought it with them into 
France when Catherine of Medici (1533) joined the French 
court as wife of Henry II. There was at first no gold in 
it— only a golden colour, like that which we now see in 
Chartreuse. But as the chemists of the middle a^ges, and 



Albert Pudding 2 1 



even of the renascence, nursed their dreams of golden 
transmutations ; as there was much talk of the sovereign 
virtues of the king of metals ; and as it was supposed that 
the grandest of all elixirs must be ^^ aurum potabile/' the 
makers of the liqueur determined to justify its name in the 
most palpable manner. They put chips of gold-leaf into it ; 
and so there could be no doubt of the fact that to drink 
acqua d'oro was to drink gold. A change then became 
necessary in the appearance of the liqueur. Gold-leaf 
would not show in a gold-coloured liquid ; and therefore 
the liquid, which had before been yellow, was rendered 
colourless, to display the gold better. It is possible that 
Dantzic may have led the way in perfecting some such 
change of colour, and may thus have succeeded in giving 
its name to the liqueur. Its real character, however, was 
due, as above said, to the Italians, who brought with them 
into France at least two liqueurs — this acqua d'oro, with 
a predominant flavour of rosemary ; and rossolis, with a 
predominant flavour of sundew. 

Brillat-Savarin mentions it as a well-known fact that 
liqueurs were first invented to soothe the old age of 
Louis XIY., and on his authority the story has been 
widely accepted. Any one who thinks for a moment must 
doubt that it was reserved for so late a period as the old 
age of Louis XIV. to invent the combination of spirits 
with highly-perfumed syrups ; and the history of acqua 
d'oro is a positive proof to the contrary. 

Albebt Fuddikg. — It would be a misfortune if the 
great and good Prince had not been commemorated at our 
tables. He has been commemorated in a pudding which 
is as simple as it is agreeable, which the poor man may 
enjoy, and which the most opulent and fastidious cannot 
resist It is sometimes called Albert pudding ; sometimes 
the Great and Good. An angry Welshman may say that 
long before Prince Albert was bom this pudding was 



22 Alderman^ 5 Walk 

known in Taffy-land as a Snowdon one — ^giving much 
fame to the hotel at the foot of Snowdon hilL It may be 
so ; but the Welshman should be proud that his pudding 
has now been raised to the throne. 

Beat half a pound of butter into a cream, and stir into 
it the yolks of five eggs, half a pound of flour, six ounces 
of sifted sugar, half a pound of sultana raisins, and the zest 
*of a lemon. Last of all add the whites of the eggs 
•well whisked. Have ready a mould, first well buttered 
and then (for the Prince had an artistic eye) gracefully 
lined with threads and slices, stars and lozenges of citron 
and orange peel and angelica, in geometrical figures 
worthy of the South Kensington school of design — ^which 
the Prince fostered, and which glories in its geometrical 
drawing. Pour the mixture into this mould, cover it with 
•oiled paper and a doth, and steam it for three hours. Turn 
out the mould, and serve it with English butter sauce, 
sweetened with a little sugar and flavoured with lemon 
4md a glass of sherry. 

Alderman's Walk. — An interesting name given to the 
long incision on a haunch of mutton or venison, where the 
•most delicate slices are to be found. 

Aldrich. — Dean Aldrich was a Doctor of Divinity, and 
the great master of logic at Oxford. His name is attached 
to the following verses, which are however only a transla- 
tion : — 

There are, if I do rightly think, 

Five reasons why a man should drink : 

Good wine, a friend, or being dry. 

Or leit you should be by-and-by, 

Or any other reason why. 

The real author was a Romish priest, who wrote in 
Latin, — 

Si bene commemini, causee sunt quinque bibendi : 
Hospitis adventuB ; prsoaens sitis ; atque futura ; 
Aut Tini bonitas ; aut qusBlibet altera causa. 



Allemande 23 



It is something to know that snch cogent reasons for drink- 
ing are sanctioned hj masters of logic and of theology. 

Alexakdeb or Alisjlndeb. — ^Tbis plant is almost for- 
gotten, though it may still be found in Covent Garden. It 
belongs to the parsley and celery order^ and was at one 
time much used as a salad, but it fell into neglect when the 
Italians brought celery into vogue towards the end of 
the seventeenth century. The French called it ^'persil 
de Mac^doine,'' because it was supposed to have come from 
Macedon. For this reason alone it is mentioned here. The 
French authorities are much puzzled to explain how a 
medley of vegetables or of fruits should now be called a 
Macedon — " une Mac^doine." Their explanations are con- 
jectural, are wholly insufficient ; and even if nothing better 
could be substituted for them must be discarded as much 
too ridiculous and far-fetched. Amid these guesses it is 
well to keep hold of fact, even though the fact may not 
seem to give us any assistance. And the fact is that 200 
years ago the word Mac^doine in French cookery meant 
not what we now understand — a medley, but simply the 
parsley of Macedon, or, in English, the Alexander. In a 
cookery book entitied Le Cuismier M^hodiqtie, and pub- 
lished in 1662, the eighth chapter is devoted to salads. 
One of the receipts is headed ^^ Persil de Mac^oine ; *' 
another '^ De Mac^oine cuit ; '' a third '^ De racines de 
Mac^doine.** The next is for celery, and is dismissed with 
this one direction — " De mesme fa^on que la Mac^doine.^* 
That is the oldest use of the word I can find. The book is 
in the British Museum. 

Allxmanbs — that is. Sauce Allemande, or Sauce of 
Almayne. In old English and in old French cookery 
there was always a broth of Almayne^ but it gives one 
no idea of what is now understood by the Almayne sauce, 
which is nothing else than Velvet-down thickened with 
yolks of eggs, say four to a pint, smoothed with a pat of 



24 Allspice 

the freshest butter^ and flavoured with lemon-juice; some- 
times alsO; but not always, with essence of mushrooms. 

How this sauce got its name is not quite dear ; but it is 
plain thaty not only have the Hollander and the German 
long been more or less confounded together as Dutchmen 
(Deutsch), but also that the sauce Allemande or sauce of 
Almayne is of the same character as the well-known Dutch 
sauce or sauce Hollandaise, and is probably an attempt to im- 
prove upon it. Now, Dutch sauce has a reputation among 
epicures of being at once the best and the most useful of 
all the sauces, while at the same time it has all the sim- 
plicity for which Mynheer is renowned. It is nothing but 
butter and eggs, with a little water. Suddenly, no doubt, 
it entered into some Frenchman's brain to improve upon 
this simplicity, and to refine upon the Dutch. He dis- 
missed the water, and put Velvet-down instead of it, and, 
finding the result too rich, he reduced the quantity of 
butter. Make a note of this therefore: that Dutch and 
Alma}me sauce are but difierent forms of the same idea. 
In Dutch or Holland sauce there is good water ; in 
German or Alma}rne sauce there is the finest Velvet- 
down. 

Note another point : the Poulette sauce is another form 
of the same idea. If the Almayne may be described as 
an attempt to improve upon Holland sauce, the Poulette 
may be described as a mock Almayne. In true Holland 
sauce there is no flour. But the mock Almayne, known 
as Poulette, attempts by means of flour to simulate the 
efiects of the Velvet-down introduced into true Almayne. 

Allspice. — ^A name of great distinction given to pimento, 
because it is supposed to combine the flavour of cinnamon, 
nutmeg and cloves. 

Almond. — There is no fruit that touches the fancy so 
quickly and at so many points as the almond. If we can- 



Almond 25 

not say that it is the most nseful of fruits — a title which it 
disputes with the apple — ^it is the most versatile and the 
most poetical. The very form of the almond is delightfal, 
and there are phrases in which we liken to it things so 
diverse as the eyes and finger-nails of beautiful women. 
There is something startling to the imagination also in the 
knowledge that this fruity so fine of shape^ so sweet and 
soft to the palate, so soothing and medicinal in its in- 
flnence, contains within itself the most potent and rapid of 
poisons — ^hydrocyanic acid. It is another striking fact that 
the almond blossoms before its leaves cpmes oat. When 
^^ thro^ wild March the throstle calls/' ^^ the sunlit almond 
blossom shakes " notonly round the Queen's palace walls, but 
in thousands of gardens throughout the land ; and it is one 
of the joys of early spring about London — indeed, all over 
England — to see this> about the earliest of the flowering 
shrubs, with its pink blossoms upon bare branches, sug- 
gesting images of hope in sorrow and triumph in desolation. 
Strange, too, that the almond is a peach and a nectarine at 
the same time. It is not only the parent of these fruit 
trees, but there are almond trees in which almonds will 
be found in a state of transition to peaches, and with both 
peaches and nectarines on the same branch. Another 
curious point is the caprice of the almond in bitterness. 
There are not only bitter almond trees,but a number of bitter 
almonds will be found growing on sweet almond trees, and 
no one can be absolutely certain whether the kernel he is 
about to taste will be sweet or bitter. To aU this it is to be 
added that the almond goes to form the most tempting 
sweetmeats of children, who revel in nougat and nAca* 
roons, in hardbake, in sugared almonds or pralines and 
in the fond union of almonds and raisins, happy pairs of 
bride and bridegroom, entering into that rosy chamber of 
bliss — the pearl-barred mouth of a red-lipped child. 

The usefulness of the almond is wonderful. The phy- 
sician knows this well. Mention has already been made of 



2'6 Aimona 

the most rapid of poisons derived from it — prussic acid — 
which in weak doses holds a great plaoe in the pharma- 
oopceia. The ahnond provides an admirable salve for the 
skin, and either cures or relieves a variety of cutaneous 
diseases. A few almonds eaten after dinner have been 
known to give instant relief from heartburn. Almond 
paste or emulsion forms a firs^-rate medium for the com- 
bination and presentation of drugs ; and almond milk — 
that is, almond triturated with sugar and water — ^has many 
of the characteristics of animal milk, and forms a verv 
soothing beverage in fever, as well as a pleasant summer 
drink. 

To the perfimier the almond is a perfect treasure. Its 
oil is the basis of Rowland's Ealydor, the still more 
celebrated Macassar Oil, and Q-owland's Lotion ; the flour 
which remains after the oil has been extracted goes to 
form what the French beautifiers call Pftte d'Amandes; 
and the husks are so rich in alkaline matter that Uieir yield 
is turned into soap. 

To the cook it is not less valuable; for the almond cream 
will smooth and improve some of his white soups, and in 
the preparation of his sweet entremets its uses are illimi- 
table, whether preserved whole and employed in decoration, 
or pounded and lost to view to reappear in flavour. Blano- 
mflnger was originally a white c^cken soup with a cream 
of almonds added ; it is now a sweet entremet of almond 
cream, without soup or chicken, but isinglass instead, and 
allowed to cool in a mould. So it was that almond milk 
was originally orgeate — a bariey water. Almonds were 
added to it to enrich it ; and they have been found so all- 
sufficient by themselves that they are used alone without 
barley, and the drink is still called orgeate. For most of 
the good things of which almonds are the chief ingredient, 
it is best to go the confectioner ; for those in which they 
play a subordinate part, or appear under new names-*as 
orgeate and blancmanger— the receipts will be found under 



Almond 27 



special headings. Here it mast be enough to describe 
almond cream or milk^ and the almond padding. 

Alnuynd MUk, Cream^ or Paste. — Sweet almonds are 
brayed in a mortar with a slight sprinkling of bitter 
ones^ and from time to time, to prevent oiling, with a few 
drops of cold water. According to the quantity of water, 
this is either a paste, a cream, or milk. Add sugar or 
syrap to taste. For orgeate, or almond milk to drink, it 
used to be the rule to let the water and pounded almonds 
infuse for several hours on cinders or on the angle of the 
stove. Now it i^ considered enough to let it rest in a cool 
place for about a couple of hours. When the flavour 
of the almonds is extracted, the infusion is to be strained 
through a napkin, to have a dash of orange-flower water 
added to it, to be diluted to the thinness of a drink, and to 
be kept in ice or in a very cold place, lest it should like 
milk turn sour. It is very refreshing in fever or in hot 
weather ; and is considered especially good for orators and 
all who have to use the throat much. In his great speech 
of 1860, when he lost his voice, and the country was kept 
waiting a week for his famous wine budget, Mr. Gladstone 
might be seen drinking small glassfuls of what had all the 
appearance of almond cream — though whether it was so or 
not I cannot say. 

Almond Cream Sauce, — Blanch an ounce of Jordan 
almonds and four or five bitter ones. Pound them with 
four ounces of sugar and a tablespoonful of orange-flower 
water, and then add a gill of cream and two raw yolks of 
eggs. Take this to the angle of the stove in a saucepan or 
enamelled bowl ; whisk it into a thickish froth, and it will 
become a very pretty sauce for puddings. 

Almond Pudding. — Take half a pound of sweet almonds 
with half a dozen bitter ones, and having blanched them, 
bray them to a smooth paste with a little orange-flower 
water to prevent their oiling. Mix this gradually with the 
beaten yolks of eight and the whites of four eggs, with 



28 Ambigu 

four ounces of clarified butter, and with sugar to taste — 
say from six to eight ounces. The next step is not neces- 
sary, but it is advisable in order to secure the consistency 
of the pudding throughout. Put it into a saucepan and 
stir it constantly over a slow fire till it begins to thicken. 
Then add to it a wineglassful of sherry or a liqueur-glass of 
noyau — some say cura^oa. Xext pour it either into a pie-dish 
which has been lined with a thin puff paste, or into one 
which has been rubbed with oil of sweet almonds, in order 
that it may afterwards turn out, and put it into the oven 
to bake for half an hour. Serve it with a fruit synip. 

The best almonds are those called the tender-shelled — 
the best of these the Jordan — and the best Jordan almonds 
come not from the Jordan but from Malaga. There is no 
doubt, however, that this variety came originaUy from 
Palestine. Every reader of the Bible must know that the 
Hebrews rejoiced in their almond trees. Aaron's rod that 
blossomed yielded almonds, and Hebrew poetry abounds in 
allusions to the almond. Needless to say, that almonds go 
admirably after dinner with the wine. They may be 
pleasantly varied by a Uttle roasting. Plutarch describes 
how a Boman physician, who was expected by his host 
to drink largely, warded off drunkenness by eating bitter 
almonds between his cups. 

Ambiqu. — A convenient French name for a repast of 
one course — all the dishes, hot and cold, together with the 
dessert, being on the table at once — as at a ball supper. 

America. — There is a great defect in this volume, 
nothing being said in it of Ajnerican cookery, though 
much has to be said in every cookery book of food which 
we owe to America — as the turkey, the potato, the 
tomato, vanilla, red pepper. Let us hope that in a future 
edition there will be no such gap. 



Anchovy 29 

Amphitryon. — Few names are more highly honoured 
than this ; yet none is more ambignoos nor more curionslj 
linked with shame and ridicule. The true Amphitryon was 
thoroughly befooled and dishonoured. He was thus injured 
by the king of gods, who took his name and his form, 
entered his house, and made love to his wife. When the 
two Amphitryons were brought face to face, and each 
•laimed against the other to be the true one, the false 
Amphitryon — Jupiter — invited the assembled company to 
dine, whereupon his friend Mercury exclaimed that this 
settled the question and resolved all doubts — 

Le veritable Amphitryon 
Est rAmphitryon oti Ton dine. 

It is a good stoiy to laugh at. Molifere brought out all its 
humour with superlative gaiety, and with sly allusion to 
Louis XIY. and the husband of Madame de Montespan : 
but what a tribute it is to the genius of the comedian that 
no one now objects to the name, and it is always accepted 
as a title of honour I The one Amphitryon is dishonoured, 
the other dishonours him. No matter : dishonoured or 
dishonouring, he is the true Amphitryon who gives a 
dinner, and everybody is proud of deserving the name. 

Anchovy is the most renowned herring in the world, 
and is the foundation of the celebrated sauces of classical 
times — garum and alec. Dr. Badham says^ with perfect 
truth, that the anchovy ^^ was to the ancient world what 
the herring is to the modem — covipensating in some degree 
for its inferiority to the last while fresh by surpassing 
when cured the very herring itself as a relish; and 
furnishing the materials for the finest fish sauce either on 
record or in use." The best that come to England hail 
from Gorgona. 

Anchovy Butter is made with any quantity of butter 
from half an ounce to an ounce for each anchovy. The 
half-ounce scale is the best for ordinary use. Skin and 



30 Anchovy 

bone the anchovies ; pound £hem in a mortar with a little 
of the bntter ; rub them through a sieve with the back of 
a wooden spoon ; mix the rest of the butter with them ; 
and if thej are to be served at table cold, tint them with 
rose pink and mould them into shapes. - 

Anehcymf Essence. — The essence of anchovies sold in shops 
is so often adulterated that it is wise to know how to be 
independent of it. Clean six anchovies, and pound them 
in a mortar with a tablespoonful of capers, two shalots, 
and two red chillies. Put them in a small stewpan, with 
thjme, bajleaf, mace, and a wineglassful of mushroom 
ketchup, and let them simmer gently for five minutes. Then 
add two wineglassfuls of good broth and reduce it rapidly. 
Press it through a sieve, and finish it with a small piece 
of glaze and a little lemon-juice. Never mind the want of 
colour, which in the essence of the shops is too often the 
result of baneful minerals. 

Anchovy Sauce is the English sauce — ^made with an- 
chovy butter instead of ordinary butter ; or otherwise, 
English sauce made in the ordinary way and flavoured 
with essence of anchovies. 

Anchovy Toast — Cut slices of bread as for sandwiches, 
and fry Ihem in clarified butter till they become brown 
without becoming hard and crisp ; spread them with 
anchovy butter, upon this lay fillets of anchovies, and 
serve them hot. 

Andguillette is the name of a sausage made from 
andouilU-^HiiQ French name for chitterlings. AndouUle 
itself originally meant a sausage, being no other than the 
Latin inductUis — ^a duct into which minced meat has been 
inducted. We know little of the andouillette in England. 
In France it is a great favourite ; but it can be had in 
perfection at Dumas', 55, Prince's Street, Leicester Square. 
It is to be grilled and eaten very hot. 



Anise-'Seed 3 1 



Ajktosliga is not oxilj thus gloriously called in ordinary 
speech : its scientific name is Angelica Archangelica; and 
its yirtnes were supposed to be so wonderful that it has 
also been called IDae Hdy Ohost^ while the Garthnsian 
monks of the monastery at Gbenoble have appropriated the 
sacred plant to themselves, and made of it a Uquear — Char- 
treuse — ^the name of which they stoutly defend in the law 
courts as their monopoly. The great virtoes of this angdiic 
drink^which the holy fathers daim to be alone possessed of, 
are sudorific, diuretiey and earminatiye. It is interesting 
to think of the angelic plant, and the holy fathers who 
cultiyate it, being so kindly to the bowels of the human 
race, and ever intent on defeating the wind and coaxing 
perspiration. The plant has a fine pungent flavour; and 
the holy fathers know how to allure the senses, for they 
invest their distillation with lovely tints, making a green as 
well as a yellow or golden Chartreuse. In the olden time 
angelica used to be blanched for salad like celery. In this 
respect it has shared the fate of the alisander or parsley of 
Macedon : it is no longer used for salad. Tlie stems, 
however, the stalks, and the midribs of the leaves, are 
candied, and are used like candied orange and citron peel 
to flavour and ornament sweet dishes. The Laplanders, 
however, to this day roast the stalks, and eat them for 
hoarseness, for coughs, and to produce perspiration. This 
shews that if the plant be indeed worlliy of the celestial 
personagea whose names it has received, they must be very 
favourable to copious perspiration and to diuretics. 

Anisb-ssbd, Akisstte. — Anise belongs to a dass of 
plants, including oarraway or carvy, cumin, dill, and 
coriander, which are supposed to have a carminative 
virtue* It is therefore much prized in nurseries where 
the infitnta suffer from flatulence. It is also supposed to 
inesease the supply of milk in mothers. The French seem 
to prize greatly the Uqueor known as Aniaette of Bordeaux 



3 2 Appetite 

Doubtless it has its yirtaes^ bat it has a sickly taste, and 
may well be left among the medicine bottles of the 
nursery. 

The most admirable employment of anise-seed in England 
is in simulating the odour of a fox. To vary the amuse- 
ment of foxhunting and to make sure of a good run, the 
huntsman goes forth in the morning dragging after him a 
bag of anise-eeed, and choosing the best line across country 
for an exhilarating and not too easy ride. The hounds are 
afterwards put upon the scent, and follow it as a genuine 
fox to the finisL 

Appetite. — ^The place of appetite at the dinner-table 
cannot be more happily described than by Car6me. He 
was for a time chef to the Prince Begent in England, who 
devoted about an hour every day to a philosophical discourse 
with the great artist on dinners past and dinners to come. 
One day said the Prince^ '^ GarSme, you will make me die 
of indigestion. I want to eat everything you send to 
table, and the temptation is too great— ^ veritdy The last 
two words are no doubt the French way of rendering 
the Regent's double-shotted language. ^^ Sir,'' answered 
GarSme truly, " my business is to provoke your appetite ; 
it is not for me to regulate it." 

Apple is the best known and most useful fruit in 
England. The crab or wild apple is indigenous; the 
cultivated kinds have been introduced at different times, 
beginning with the Bomans, who were fond of them, and 
had a proverb founded on the fact that a Boman meal set 
out with eggs and ended with apples — ^^ ab ovo usque ad 
mala." There has long been a theory current to account 
for the scarcity of certain kinds of apples — and it is sure to 
live for ages among the fruiterers, although it is now quite 
exploded among scientific gardeners — ^that an apple lasts no 
longer than its original tree. Say that the tree lasts for 
200 years : at the end of that time the slips and grafts 



APP^^ 33 

which have been taken, at ever so many removes, from this 
tree will cease to bear, though themselves quite recent. If 
there is a scarcity of any kind of apple, it is through neglect. 
The redstreak, which Sir Isaac Newton loved, and which 
was our most popular apple in the seventeenth century, 
is dying out, simply because it is not suiBciently prized : it 
is replaced by better varieties everywhere, except in the 
cider counties, where it is found useful. The oldest apple 
of which we have any record in England is the pearmain : 
it dates many centuries back, and it shows no sign of 
decay. It is a curious fact, however, with regard to the 
old winter pearmain, which is supposed to be the father of 
all the other varieties of pearmain, that it ripens in 
December. Now, the earliest record of the pearmain 
occurs in a tenure in the county of Norfolk, which bears 
the date 1200, and requires that 200 pearmains and four 
hogsheads of pearmain cider should be paid into the 
Exchequer yearly at Michaelmas. This surely implies that 
the pearmain was ripe before Michaelmas, — and there is 
indeed a pearmain, by some called the summer, by others 
the autumn pearmain, which ripens early in September, 
Dr. Hogg, however, who is the chief authority on apples 
in this country, has decided that the old pearmain is the 
winter variety. He has also explained that the last 
syllable of the name is the same as in the old spelling of 
Charlemaine. Pearmain therefore means an apple like 
a great pear. 

There are about 1500 varieties of apple named. It will 
be enough here to give the names of about fifty of the best, 
in the order of the months in which they ripen. The 
names of the months mentioned after them show the 
length of time they ought to keep if well looked after. It 
is curious to note that, unlike other fruits, the best apples, 
and those which keep the longest, are those which ripen 
latest. 



34 "^PP^ 

Dessert Apples 

June Joanneting. (August.) This is commonly called 

June-eating, and the dictionaries spell it jenneting. It really 
means " little John," after John the Baptist, whose day, 
the 24th of June, ought to see it ripe. It is the eariiest of 
all the apples ; but in England we can seldom count on it 
before July. It does not keep long. 

July Early Harvest. (August.) Of American origin. 

Margaret. (August.) A conical, green-yellow apple, 
named after St. Margaret's day, 20th July, when it ought 
to be ripe. It soon turns mealy. 

August— King of the Pippins. (September.) Ovate 
or coni5^al. 

September—SvimmcT Pearmain. (October.) Graven- 
stein. (October.) An apple of German origin. 

October— AnoiheT King of the Pippins, but not the 
true ; better called Hampshire Yellow, or Golden Winter 
Pearmain. Lasts till January. Golden Reinette. 
(January.) Api, or Lfady Apple. (April.) Named from 
the forest of Api, in Brittany, where first discovered. 

November — Fearn's Pippin (February.) Blenheim 
Pippin. (February.) Herefordshire Pearmain. (Feb- 
ruary.) Ribston Pippin. (March.) The favourite apple 
of England. Golden Pippin. (April.) One of the oldest 
English apples. The Empress Catherine of Russia was so 
fond of it that every year she had supplies of it sent ifrom 
England, each apple wrapped in silver paper. Reinette 
de Canada. (April.) Bradick's Nonpareil. (April.) 
Winter Pearmain — the oldest of English apples. 

(April.) 

DecenJbet — Dutch Mignonne. (April.) A German 
apple. Downton Nonpareil. (April.) Newtown 
Pippin. (April.) Named after Newtown, Long Island. 



Apple 35 

This apple is imported from America. For more than 
a hundred years the English gardeners have tried to 
reproduce it^ but they cannot reach the flavour of the 
American stock Send to Liverpool for a barrel of them. 
They are cheap enough. 

Jcmudry — Nonpareil. (May.) A Jesuit brought this 
over from France. Boston Russet. (May.) With a 
Ribston flavour. 

February — Sturmer Pippin. (June.) The last of the 
Mohicans. 

Kitchen Apples 

Most of these are called codlings — from the old verb to 
coddle, to boil a little, stew or simmer. The peculiar 
virtue of a kitchen apple is expressed in a phrase which is 
a constant reminder of the Grarden of Eden — to falL An 
apple is said to fall when on being cooked it forms a pulpy 
mass of equal consistence. Some of the dessert apples — 
as the Wormsley pippin, summer pearmain, golden winter 
pearmain, Feam's, Blenheim and Ribston pippins, Hereford- 
shire pearmain, reinette de Canada, Dutch mignonne, 
Downton nonpareil — ^have this falling virtue, and may 
therefore be used in the kitchen. The following are said 
to be unfit for dessert, and are used only for cooking. 
But all depends on taste, and a lady of very good taste has 
been heard to say that Sops-in-wine is the most heavenly 
of the apples, and might well tempt an innocent in 
Paradise or reward a goddess on Mount Ida* 

August — Keswick Codling. (September.) Carlisle 
Codling. (December.) 

October — Hawthomden Codling. (December.) An 
apple found in the poetical garden of Drummond of 
Hawthomden. Beauty of Kent. (February.) Sops- 
in-Wine. (February.) A very ancient English culinary 
and cider apple. 



36 Apple 

Novemlei' — Newtown Spitzemberg. (February.) 
Named by WUliam Cobbett " the matchless." Bedford- 
shire Foundling. (March.) 

December — Norfolk Beefing. (June.) 

Pleasiant as the apple is by itself, it needs assistance in 
cooking. Its taste requires nearly always to be heightened 
by other fruity flavours, to be crossed with spices, to be 
enriched with butter, or to be magnified in contrast with 
sugars and creams. For the fruity flavour it mixes best 
with apricots or quinces ; a mash or marmalade of either 
of these is excellent in any of the cooked preparations ; 
and the addition of lemon-juice is almost imperative. For 
spicy additions the old English way was to add cloves to 
every form of baked apple, but especially to apple-pie ; 
now it is more usual to employ ground cinnamon ; and 
nutmeg, and the zest of either lemons or oranges, are also 
in favour. Butter, in combination with sugar, gives a 
peculiar richness to cooked apples ; but for the most part 
it should not be added till the last moment — and not at all 
if the apples are to be eaten cold. Sugar helps the apple 
much— even a sweet one — in the cooking ; but if it is 
necessary to add sugar at table, there is more of a flavour 
that goes well with the apple in some of the best brown 
sorts than in pounded loaf-sugar. Cream also is generally 
added at the table, and all the world knows how its bland- 
ness contrasts with and brings into relief the fine acid of 
the fruit. Which of these helps shall be chosen for the 
apple must be left to individual taste and to the accidents 
of time and place. They are more or less required for 
every form of cooked apple, and the reader will understand 
this if no further mention should be made of their neces- 
sity in some of the following receipts. 

Two words more. The first — that apples, as fast as they 
are peeled and cut, must be thrown into cold water to keep 



Apple 37 

them white ; and lemon-jaioe will recover their whiteness 
if they should happen to lose it. The second — that it is 
always good to follow the Continental plan of dividing 
cooked apples into two portions: the one to be cooked 
longer than the other, and reduced to a mash or marma- 
lade. In a pie, for example, place a mash or marmalade 
of apples at the bottom of the dish, and heap on this the 
raw slices, which are to be baked enoagh, but not so much 
as to lose their solidity. 

Black Caps. — This is the primitive form. When Eve 
cooked apples for Adam, she must have baked them in their 
skins. Hie form is kept up when its meaning has departed. 
Apples were baked in their skins upon ashes, or imder or 
before a fire from which there was danger of ashes. The 
skins were often burnt on one side, and made black caps. 
But now what do we do ? We punch out the cores, and 
the apples have no longer a protection from ashes. We 
therefore bake them in an oven or in a casserole ; and 
then, to make believe that we cooked them before the fire, 
we pass a salamander over them, to produce the primaeval 
black caps. Some people would imagine that it was time 
to seek another world if black caps were abolished. They 
are essential to the existence of the human race. 

Baked Apples. — The apples are peeled, cored, and 
arranged on a dish. The hollows are filled with sugar 
and sprinkled with cinnamon. Some sugar may be placed 
round them, with a spoonful or two of water. They are 
then baked in the oven. 

BvMered Apples. — The same as the foregoing, with this 
difference — that the hollows of the apples are filled with 
butter as well as sugar ; and that, instead of putting water 
in the dish, there is a mash or marmalade of apples, or it 
may be of apricots. 

Steioed Apples or Compdte. — Simmer the apples, peeled 
and cored^ with clarified sugar and lemon-juice; also a 



38 AppU 

scrape of the lemon-rind. Serve them with custard or 
cream. 

Apples and Rice. — ^Either proceed as for buttered apples, 
but placing them in a bed of sweetened and buttered rice 
instead of the apple marmalade ; or else take stewed apples 
and arrange them on rice which has been cooked in sugar, 
milk and salt, with lemon-peel. In either case finish them 
in the oven. 

Apples and Bread, — This is one of the most perfect of 
the apple combinations. In its most refined form it is 
called a Charlotte, and will be found described under that 
name, which equally applies to apricots and other fruits. 
A more rough and readj receipt goes by the name of 
Brown Betty, whose name may be also consulted. 

Apple Pie. — This English pie is famous all over the 
world. Prepare the apples according to the general direc- 
tion given above. Put them in a pie-dish with quinces, 
for which the preparation will be found under the proper 
name, with sugar and with whatever spice may be pre- 
ferred. Make a paste — either No. 4, a puff paste, or No. 7, 
a short paste. Cover the pie with this paste, first placing 
a band of it round the wetted edge of the dish ; trim it 
nicely ; decorate it with leaves of paste : egg it over, and 
bake it in the oven for three-quarters of an hour. 

AppU Tart. — Sufficiently described once for all under 
the head of tart, which is not to be confounded with pie. 
Pies are covered ; tarts open. 

Apple Turnover, — Roll out a short paste, and cut it in 
rounds. Put some stewed apples, with proper seasoning, 
on one side of the round ; turn over the paste so as to 
make a semicircle. Close the edges, trim them, and bake 
them in a moderate oven for twenty minutes. 

Apple Pudding. — Cut a dozen apples in quarters, toss 
them with an ounce of butter, sugar and spices, over a slow 



Apricot 39 

fire till they begin to soften, and then let them get cold. 

Line a padding*basin with paste No. 8 ; pat in the apples, 

cover all over, tie it in a cloth, and boil it for an hoar and 
a half. 

Apple Ptiddinff of iVbi^in^Aam.— -Arrange the apples in 
a pie-dish as for baking — ^the hollows filled with sugar and 
sprinkled with dnnamon. Pour over them a light batter 
— the best is described among the fritters, No. 1 — and 
bake for three-quarters of an hour. 

Apple Fritters. — Steep the apples for an hour before- 
hand in brandy and sugar, and then proceed as for other 
fritters. 

Apple Sauce may be made by stewing the apples ; but 
best by baking or roasting them. When they have fallen, 
beat them smooth with a wooden spoon, pass them through 
a sieve, and add to them a very little sugar. Nearly all 
the receipts recommend a tiny bit of batter : but the 
quantity is so small as to be inappreciable, and is only 
mentioned because cooks are afraid of simplicity. No 
butter, therefore. 

Apricot. — The old form of the name is apricock, and 
this is nearer the right word. The last two syllables are 
the first two of precocious^ with the same meaning. It is 
ft Latin word which went to Arabia, which was there nsed 
with the definite article — Al-precoc, like Al*koran and 
Algebra — which thence passed to Spain as Albarcoque, and 
came over to England as Apricock. We owe the fruit in 
England to a Catholic priest, named Wolfe, who became 
gardener to King Henry VIIL But the best of all our 
apricots, the Moorpark variety, came over much later. It 
was at one time called the Temple apricot, from an idea 
that we owe it to Sir William Temple. It was also called 
the Anson, because Lord Anson was supposed to have 
introduced it ; but the probability is that it came over to 
Moorpark much later, when Lord Dunmore resided there. 



40 Architecture of the Table 

There is a great controversy, which is still undecided 
among the gardeners, whether it is or is not identical with 
the peach-apricot. It has a peculiarity in this — that the 
stone is perforated, so that a pin can be passed through it 
The aperture is not easy to find. It is in a small groove 
on the thin side, near the base. A very fine fruit, it scarcely 
deserves the nameof Apricock — ^the early ripe — for it does 
not ripen till the beginning or middle of August. 

The apricot is cooked in all the ways prescribed for 
apples. There is the Charlotte of apricots with bread ; 
there is the beignet, or fritter, of apricots with batter ; 
there is the Cond^ of apricots with rice ; and there is the 
pie or tart of apricots with pastry. Of all the English 
fruit pies or tarts, a green apricot one has long been 
deemed by far the finest ; but Mr. Hayward will have it 
that a green apricot pudding is a much better thing. Of 
marmalades and compdtes it is needless to speak. 

Careme took a great deal of pains to describe how 
apricots and other fruits may be boiled, passed through a 
hair sieve, and worked into a Bavarois — or Bavarian cheese. 
It is better, however, to keep the cream separate, according 
to one of Francatelli's receipts : — 

Apricot Jelly vnth Cream, — Put eighteen ripe apricots, 
from which the stones have been removed, into a preserv- 
ing pan, with a pound of loaf sugar and a gill of spring 
water. Stir this on a brisk stove fire until all the fruit is 
dissolved. Rub it through a hair sieve, mix two ounces of 
clarified isinglass with it, and fill a jelly mould with it. 
When the jelly has set firm, turn it out on a dish, and fill 
the centre with whipped cream. So with pears, apples, and 
quinces. 

Architecture of the Table. — This is a department of 
the art of cookery which has given rise to the grandest 
enthusiasm and to the gravest discussions. A dish should 
look tempting and a table should look brilliant ; but when 



Architecture of the Table 4 1 

we peer into a kaleidoscope we have no desire to eat the 
variegated patterns ; and it is not to be supposed that food 
will be more relished for being arranged as a landscape or 
a garden^ or for being bnilt into picturesque ruins and 
handsome statuary. There is something childish in this 
desire to make our edibles pictorial. It may be left to 
children to eat gingerbread kings and saccharine horses. 
Neyertheless a great cook, perhaps the greatest of this 
century — Cardme, though he had other titles to our grati- 
tude, is most of all famous for his picturesque pastry ; and 
some of his structures may still be seen in the storerooms 
of the Tuilleries, if they were not burnt in 1871. It is a 
mistake, however, to suppose that Car^me originated this 
kind of ornament. Horace Walpole describes how in the 
last century the Intendant of Gascony gave a magnificent 
banquet on the birth of the Duke of Burgundy. The 
centrepiece was covered with wax figures moved by clock- 
work« which at the conclusion of the feast were set in 
motion, and gave a representation of the labour of the 
Dauphiness and the happy birth of an heir to the monarchy. 
He also tells an anecdote of Lord Albemarle's cook in this 
country, who prepared a middle dish of gods and goddesses 
eighteen feet high, and complained bitterly because Lord 
Albemarle would not demolish the ceiling of his dining- 
room to make room for the gorgeous structure. In the 
previous century an English cook, Robert May, contrived 
an astonishing trophy — a ship with guns charged with 
veritable powder, and a castle of pies full of live frogs and 
birds. After the guns were fired the ladies were directed 
to take eggshells fiill of perfume and throw them at each 
other, " to sweeten the stink of powder.'' Then the lids 
were to be removed from the castle of pies ; the frogs 
would jump out, making the ladies shriek ; the birds would 
fiy forth, putting out the candles ; and nobody knows what 
kisses and struggles and pretty adventures might happen 
when the lights were out. When the candles were lit again^ 



4 2 Arrowroot 



the company might proceed to the more serioas business of 
mastication. 

Arrowboot is nothing but starch ; and it has the same 
nutritiye value as expressed in chemical symbols, however 
and wherever it is obtained. It contains, that is to say, in 
a hundred parts, eighteen of water and eighty-two of starch. 
This is a great fact for the grocers who sell one kind of 
arrowroot for another. There is absolutely no difference 
that can as vet be detected in the chemical constitution 
of the starch in each. There is another difference, 
however. It is dear to the microscopic eye in the size 
and form of granules belonging to one starch and to 
another. Still more, there is a marked difference In the 
taste and in the digestibility of the different kinds. An 
invalid can take the Bermuda and Jamaica arrowroots, 
made from the root of the Maranta arundinacea^ when he 
can take no other. The other arrowroots — East Indian, 
Brazilian, Tahitan, British — ^may be wholesome enough, but 
they are made from different roots (British from potatoes), 
which are not to be compared with the true West Indian 
arrowroot, obtained from a root that was in close alliance, 
if not identical, with some supposed remedy for poisoned 
arrows. 

Arrowroot Sauce is a lemon sauce, thickened with 
arrowroot 

Artichoke. — It is good for a man to eat thistles, and to 
remember that he is an ass. But an artichoke is the best 
of thistles, and the man who enjoys it has the satisfaction 
of feeling that he is an ass of taste. There are several 
elaborate ways of dressing the artichoke — ^the Barigoule 
way and the Lyonnese way, for example, which have little to 
recommend them but their elaboration. Each is a moun- 
tain of labour for a mouse of result. The result is not bad; 
but it is always melancholy to see waste — and in art es- 
pecially the pleasure of it is destroyed when we are made 



Asparagus 4 3 

oonscious of eflFort. The Barigoule and Lyonnese receipts 
are frantic attempts to paint the lily and to perfume theyiolet. 
When a great cook brings the whole battery of his kitchen 
to bear upon a simple artichoke bottom, one is reminded of 
Victor Hugo's comparison : " It is as if the Deity were to 
bombard a lettuce with a thunderbolt." Depend upon it 
that the simplest way of dressing the artichoke is the best. 
Trim it, boil it in salt and water, and let it be eaten with 
oil and vinegar, with English sauce or with Holland sauce. 
There is a special receipt for these sauces when served with 
vegetables. Some French cooks, before sending the arti- 
choke to table, are careful to remove the choke, or as they 
call it, the hay. For this purpose the artichoke must either 
be allowed to cool, or must be dipped in cold water, and 
heated again after the removal of the hay — ^which might too 
vividly remind us how much we are asses. That hay in the 
artichoke certainly raises a delicate question, and it must 
be left to the good feeling of cooks whether they will or 
will not send it up to table. 

AscALON. — Ever to be remembered as the place where 
the Crusaders found the loveliest of' onions, which they 
brought back to Western Europe and named after the 
place of its nativity. The name is now corrupted into 
eschalot, shalot, and scallion. The giant Philistines who 
founded Ascalon are no more. The tiny onions of Ascalon 
live for ever. 

Asparagus. — There is no cooked vegetable which raises 
expectation and lures the fancy so much as the asparagus. 
We are attracted to it, as to the chief salad-plants, by some- 
thing more than the craving for food. — it is a charm. 
When we know that it is a lily, near of kin to the lily- 
of-the-valley, we are not surprised at its power over us. 
When we hear that it is ranked with the asphodels, we are 
ready to believe that the fields of asphodel in which the 
blessed roam in Elysium must be beds of asparagus. It is 



44 Asparagus 



gratifying to know that this truly Elysian lily — ^though it 
does not look like a lily when it comes to table — ^is a 
native of England. Of kindred plants, besides the lily-of- 
the-yalley, there are also in England Solomon's seal and 
butcher's broom. Both of these have young shoots which 
may be eaten like asparagus; and the latter is a great 
curiosity, having a flower which grows out of the leaf. All 
these plants have a certain narcotic and soothing influence^ 
which is due to a peculiar principle named by the chemists, 
after their wont, asparagin. It is a pretty name, but it 
does not tell us much. We have banished asparagus from 
the British pharmacopoeia, but the French still hold to it — 
chiefly, however, making use of the root. It is supposed 
to still and soothe the action of the heart, like foxglove ; 
it is also supposed to act as a lithic in preventing gravel ; 
and it is known to have a marked and very rapid action 
on the kidneys. Whatever may be its medical virtues, we 
in England know them only through the charm of the 
vegetable when it comes to the table. And certainly 
nowhere is it cultivated to such an extent as in the neigh- 
bourhood of London. It grows wild near the seaside. At 
Kynance Cove, in Cornwall, there is an island called 
Asparagus Island, because of its abundance there. Loudon, 
who ought . to know, declares that nowhere, unless in 
Holland, is the plant brought to such perfection as in 
England ; and he adds — ^without any exception whatever 
— that the asparagus beds of Mortlake and Deptford are 
the most extensive in the world. 

The greatest defect of the English arrangement of dinner 
is that almost always veoretables are of no account save as 
adjuncts. It is not understood, except in the dinners of 
the poor, that a vegetable may make an excellent dish to be 
eaten by itself alone. To this rule, however, there are two 
exceptions made — in favour of artichokes and asparagus. 
It is a question whether this exception is due to a pure 
admiration of the vegetable, or to the circumstance that. 



Asparagus 45 

having to be eaten with the fingers^ it is necessary to put 
down either knife or fork in order to seize the vegetable. 
The probability is, that if the Creator had thought fit, in 
His wisdom, to endow the Englishman with three or four 
hands, he would never be seen eating the artichoke or the 
asparagus alone, but always in conjunction with some 
other food. 

Asparagus in Stalks. — After washing and trimming the 
stalks, tie them in a bundle, or bundles, of about a score in 
each, and cut the white ends even. Put them in hot water 
with a small handful of salt, and boil them for twenty 
minutes. Drain them then on a napkin, and serve them 
on toasted bread which has been dipped in the water they 
have boiled in. Send them to table with English butter 
sauce, for which there is a special direction. Some, how- 
ever, prefer to eat them with oil and vinegar. In this 
case they are, as the French say, to be refreshed with cold 
water. 

Fontenelle was passionately fond of asparagus, but he 
liked them with oil. His friend, the Cardinal Dubois, 
liked them not less fervently, but he preferred them with a 
butter sauce. Fontenelle had a great bundle of asparagus 
sent to him ; he told the Cardinal of it, invited him to 
dinner, and promised faithfully that half should be served 
with oil and half with sauce. Tie Cardinal accepted; but 
just upon the dinner-hour came a message to his host that 
he had fallen in a fit, and was dead, or dying. Fontenelle 
rushed towards the kitchen : " All with oil ! all with oil ! " he 
cried, fearing that the cook would not send up enough of his 
favourite sauce to eat with all ; and then, having paid this 
honour to the asparagus, he returned to his dining-room to 
lament over his friend. So great is the influence which 
asparagus, with oil, has been known to exert over the 
human soul. 

Asparagus Peas, — These are the points of young green 



46 Aspic 

asparagus cut into peas, and serred, like peas, along with 
fricandeaux, sweetbreads, or cutlets. Tbej are also served 
separately, as an entremet, and are then prepared exactly 
as peas in the French fashion. 

Asparagus Soup. — Cut all that is tender from a bundle 
of asparagus, and boH it with some salt in about half a 
gallon of water. Spinach may be added for colour, and 
parsley and spring onions for flavour. When boiled 
enough, strain off the liquor and keep it in reserve — at the 
same time separating the asparagus from the other vege- 
tables, and braying it in a mortar. Then take about two 
ounces of flour, the same quantity of butter, and a spoonful 
of white sugar. Pass this for five or six minutes over the 
fire, to make a white roux. Mix the pounded asparagus 
with it, add a little of the liquor^ let it boil for a few 
minutes, and pass it through a tammy, or a fine strainer, 
back into the pan which contains the chief portion of 
liquor. Finally, mix two yolks of eggs with half a tumbler 
of cream, a little melted butter, and a pinch of grated 
nutmeg. Stir this into the hot soup, and it is then ready 
to be served, with some fried crusts apart. 

There is no broth in the foregoing, and it is not needed. 
But those who wish it can use chicken broth in place of 
the water. 

Asparagus icith Eggs. — One of the most distinguished of 
omelets is made by cooking asparagus in the usual way, 
cutting the ends into peas, and mixing them with pepper 
and salt in the omelet. In the same way they are excel- 
lent mingled with scrambled eggs {ceufs brouilUs), 

Aspic. — There are most elaborate receipts for making 
aspic jelly, and on great occasions let these receipts be 
followed. But as it comes constantly into use, and ought 
to be ever at hand, it is necessary to make the preparation 
as simple and easy as possible. Boil do^vn calves' feet 
with a faggot of potherbs (Faggot, No. 6). When this is 



Aspic 47 

ready, add to it for final flavour sherry or Marsala, and 
some tarragon vinegar in which a &ggot of ravigote herbs 
have boiled. Test the strength of the jelly, clarify it 
with white of egg, and strain it through a jelly bag. 

And now it may be asked, Why is it called aspic ? There 
is upon this point the most curious ignorance, although the 
explanation lies upon the surfiEice. Most Englishmen think 
it must have to do with the asp, and the more readily since 
they remember the question of Cleopatra, bitten by the 
snake — " Have I the aspic in my lips ? '* Even French- 
men, who ought to be better informed, make a similar 
mistake. The great lexicographer, M. Littr^, who has pro- 
duced the standard dictionary of the French language — a 
monument of learning — says that aspic is so called because 
it is cold as a snake, which is proverbially cold I The 
absurdity of this must be evident if it is remembered 
that aspic is sometimes served hot ; and yet one way 
or another all the dictionaries connect it with the asp. It 
has in truth nothing to do with anything so venomous. It 
means lavender — in old French, espic or spic ; in good old 
English, spike, lavender-spike, and spikenard. Lavender- 
spike is to be found in the sauces of Koman cookery ; it is 
mentioned among the pot-herbs used in France five hun- 
dred years ago ; one of the spikes — the spikenard of Spain 
— is in English books of the same period mentioned as 
a flavouring ingredient of Hippocras ; and a couple of 
centuries ago Parkinson, the botanist, describes a decoction 
of lavender, horehound, fennel, and asparagus, which was 
considered a wonderful tonic — a stomachic, a cure for t^e 
toothache, for epilepsy, for faintness, but most of all potent 
in the maladies of women. To come down still later, at 
the time of the French Revolution the great master in the 
art of distillation was Dejean, who wrote a book on the 
subject His thirty-second chapter is devoted to the 
preparation of waters, spirits, and extracts of aspic, thymo, 
basil, and sage. Later still, Grimod de la Bejou^re, in one 



48 Ass 

 

of the volumes of his Almamich des Gourmands^ has a 
chapter on sauces and their names. He comes to the 
sauces named from vegetables — k la ciboule, k Taspic, k la 
ravigote, au fenouih He, the most learned authority of 
his time on cookery, has no notion that aspic is other than 
the well-known plant Lavender, however, is not a good 
seasoning, and it dropped out of account while still the 
name remained. In the present day the French cooks, 
when they propose to aapiqicer a sauce, mean only to put 
lemon-juice or reduced vinegar into it. And so in the 
course of time it has come about that aspic belongs to the 
long list of things which, like houses dispossessed of their 
first owners, retain names no longer their own — cervelas 
without brains, orgeate without barley, blancmanger without 
fowl, galantine without galingale, cheesecakes without curd, 
pomatum without apple. Julienne without wood-sorrel, 
bisque without wood-pigeon, marmalade without quince, 
vinegar without wine. Many times in the following pages 
it will be necessary to refer to this curious list. 

^gg^ Few persons are aware that this excellent animal 

contributes of its flesh to the sausages of Bologna and of 
Ijvons, which they enjoy so much. Such unobtrusive 
merit ought to raise him high in the opinion of mankind. 
It is said that Lyonnese and Bolognese, coming to London, 
have been known to rush to the City, to Ironmonger Lane, 
to extend their acquaintance with the good little beast 
They read the name of the street Irons manger T^ne. 
The lower classes of the French are so assured of the 
excellent qualities of the ass, that, knowing the marvellous 
properties of laudanum for soothing and setting to sleep, 
they ask the chemists for it under the name of "I'eau . 
d'anon." 

Aurora sauce appears in many books, and must be 
mentioned here because it will be looked for; but it is 
useless and has no meaning beyond its name. 



Badminton 49 



Like a lobster boiled ihe mom 
From black to red begins to turn. 

The coral of lobster added to English sauce makes Aurora 
— something pretty to look at; but what is it to taste ? The 
taste of coral is so insipid that it must be helped out with 
essence of shrimps or. of anchoyies : in which case, however, 
the sauce were much better called after the shrimp or the 
anchoYj. 




ABA, or Polish Cake. Use paste No. 9, mixed 
with two glasses of rum instead of water and 
tinted with saffron. 

Bacon, to be boiled, must be put into plenty of cold 
water and brought slowly to the boiling poini It is then 
to be simmered, and it takes a long time— say an hour 
and a half for a couple of pounds. Remove the rind when 
it is cooked and sprinkle it with bread-raspings. Those 
who dislike to eat this when cold can have it cut into 
rashers, sprinkled with bread-crumb, and toasted in a 
Dutdi-oven, or by means of a wire toaster. Baw bacon 
can be either grilled or toasted in rashers — it is best 
toasted. To fry good bacon is to show ingratitude to the 
generous animal that lived and died for your benefit in the 
hope that feeding on his flitch you might one day become 
another Lope de Vega. See further on about Lope and 
his devotion to the flitch. 

Badmutton must have a word here, because the name 
is exceptionaL There are crowds of French dishes named 
after Hie titles and country houses of the French nobility. 
Li England the Earl of Sandwich in the last century gave 
his name to a well-known article of food — ^and that is all, 

4 



( 

50 Bain Marie \ 

if we except Badminton, the seat of the Duke of Beaufort, 
which calls np a vision not of food but of drink — claret cup 
without the sugar and the cura^a. Attempts no doubt have 
been made to immortalise great English names in the prepa- 
rations of the table ; but not one has achieved a universal 
renown except the Sandwich and possibly Badminton. If 
any English peer in this century could have had his name 
written in comestibles, we should have expected it might 
have been the late Duke of Beaufort, who gloried in a 
Neapolitan cook named Bafiaelle. This great artist went 
one night to hear the opera of UElisir d* Amove. In the 
middle of the night the Duke was roused from sleep by a 
knock at his bedroom door. ** Who%^ there ? " he cried. 
" It's only me, Signer Due," said Baffaelle, opening the 
door. " I have been to the opera ; I have been dreaming 
of the music ; and I have an idea. I have invented a 
SDrbet — I have named it the sorbet k la Donizetti ; and I 
could not resist coming to tell your Grace." Surely the 
Duke who showed his appredation of a cook so enthusiastic 
deserved to have his good taste recorded in the breast of a 
partridge or on a neck of venison. 

Bain Marie (Mary's bath). — This Mary was a Jewess 
who lived in the fourth century of our era, and was devoted 
to alchemy. She required a bath that would retain heat 
long at an equable temperature for the metals and vessels 
upon which she made her experiments. To this end she 
heated sand and plunged her vessels into it. The modem ' 
Mary-bath is an imitation in hot water, which is not so 
good as sand, since it has no special aptitude for retaining 
heat, but has the advantage of being easily kept hot by 
connection with the boiler — and kept thus hot at a tem- 
perature which can never exceed 212 degrees Fahrenheit 
Transferred with this change of sand into water jfrom the 
laboratory to the kitchen, the Mary-bath is exceedingly 



Bake 



SI 



nseful as a means of keeping things hot with no danger of 
their being too hot. Practically, howerer, this heat is a 
good waj below the boiling point ; and it is a mistake to 
snppose that the same bain marie will at once do for cook- 
ing and for keeping things hot. In the language of the 
French kitchen, to cook au bain marie means simply to 
cook in a double saucepan — the water in the outer saucepan 
being kept continuously at boiling point. This should be 
remembered by English people, who are disappointed when 
they find that the grand new bain marie they have ordered 
for their kitchens, though good for keeping things hot after 
they are cooked, will not at the same time cook like a double 
saucepan. The fault is probably with the French, who give 
a more extended use to the name of Mary's bath than that 
ingenious Jewess thought of A bain marie in her view, 
and as commonly understood, is but a means of retaining 
heat. To cook au bain marie is to create a heat by means 
of a double saucepan which, rising to 212 degrees c^ 
Fahrenheit, shall have no chance of getting beyond that 
temperature. Let there be no mistake, therefore, as to a 
fact so elementary. A bain marie cannot have water in 
it which is both at boiling point for cooking purposes and 
below boiling point for keeping things hot. 

Bake. — The chemist who will tell us what is the precise 
difference between baking and roasting will confer a benefit 
on mankind. We all see, or fancy that we see, a difference 
in the results ; but what it is nobody has yet been able to 
define. Tbe difference in the process is clear enough. In 
roasting, the meat is swinging or turning in free air before 
a bright fire. In baking, the meat is motionless in a con- 
fined space, and whatever heat comes to it is dark. The 
degrees of heat as marked by the thermometer may be the 
same in either case. Is there any difference in taste due 
to the &ct that in the one case the rays of heat are bright 
and act in a free current of air, while in the other the rays 



52 Bakewell Pudding 

of heat are dark and act upon a sorfaoe from which cur- 
rents of air are excluded ? If chemists were practical, the j 
would work out this problem, which is of more interest to 
mankind than all their researches into the nature of ele- 
mentary nothings with names longer than the titles of a 
Spanish grandee. 

It will be obsenred that baking is here understood in a 
peculiar sense. By rights, we can speak of baking in the 
sun, or of baking anything before a dear fire. In common 
parlance, howeyer, to bake meat is to put it on a baking- 
dish into a closed oven. A good oven can be made out of 
a conmion saucepan. This is an important point for those 
who are interested in impromptu cookery — ^for the cam- 
paigner who wishes to roast his game at a doubtful fire — 
for the kitchenmaid who is suddenly called upon for a nice 
hot supper when the fire has gone down. Bub your bird 
with butter, and put it with more butter into a good copper- 
pan on the doubtful fire. The pan becomes, when tight 
closed, a small oven, which can be occasionally opened to 
give the bird a turn and a baste. Such a pan has many 
and many a time baked a partridge in twenty minutes, a 
woodcock in fifteen ; and no one has guessed that it has 
not been roasted before a brilliant fire. 

Bakewell Pudding is the glory of Derbyshire. Oue 
might have expected some miracle of excellence for the 
palate firom the ducal residence of Chatsworth, with all its 
fame and its splendour, and the highest fountain jet in the 
world. But, although a Duchess of Devonshire once kissed 
a butcher, the great house of Cavendish has done nothing 
for our tables which can compare with the humble achieve- 
ment of some unknown genius in the small town of Bake- 
weU, nigh to the prodigious Chatsworth. 

Line a pie-dish with a light paste. Place on this a 
thickish layer of any preserved fruit from the most common 
to the most refined — ^let us say peaches or apricots. The 



Banting 53 

Bakewellians are in the habit of intermingling this with 
candied dtron or orange-peel cut into thin stripes — a part 
of the ceremony which may be safely omitted. Make a 
custard of six yolks and three whites of eggs, from four to 
five ounces of clarified butter, six ounces of sifted sugar, 
and three spoonfuls of what the Bakewellians call lemon- 
brandy — ^that is, brandy which has been flavoured by long 
maceration with the zest of lemons. A little of the zest of 
a lemon may be used instead, or any other flavour that 
may be preferred. Pour the custard over and among the 
apricot jam, and bake the pudding in a moderate oven for 
three-quarters of an hour. 

Banting. — The following is the diet of Mr. Banting, by 
which in a year — ^fifty-two weeks — he reduced himself in 
weight 52 lbs., to his great advantage. He began with 
202 lbs., and to his joy and comfort he came down to 
150 lbs. " For breakfast," he says, " at nine a.m., I take 
five or six ounces of either beef, mutton, kidneys, broiled 
fish or cold meat of any kind excepting pork or veal ; a 
large cup of tea or cofiee without milk or sugar ; a little 
biscuit or one ounce of dry toast, making together six 
ounces of solid and nine of liquid. For dinner, at two p.m.^ 
five or six ounces of any fish except salmon, herrings^ or 
eels ; any meat except pork or veal ; any vegetable except 
potato, parsnip, beet-root, turnip, or carrot ; one ounce of 
dry toast ; fruit out of a pudding, not sweetened ; any kind 
of poultry or game ; and two or three glasses of good 
claret, sherry, or Madeira — champagne, port, and beer for- 
bidden ; making together ten or twelve ounces solid and ten 
liquid. For tea, at six p.m., two or three ounces of cooked 
fruit, a rusk or two, and a cup of tea without milk or 
sugar ; making together two to four ounces solid and nine 
liquid. For supper, at nine p.m., three or four ounces of 
meat or fish, similar to dinner, with a glass or two of claret 
or sherry and water ; making together four ounces solid 



54 Barbel 

and seven Uqnid. For nightcap, if required^ a tambler of 
grog (gin, whisky, brandy, without sugar), or a glass or 
two of claret or dherry." 

Barbel is hardly ever eaten in England. Oar anglers 
either throw it away, or keep it for the cat. This is pro- 
bably because its roe is pernicious. But the French speak 
well of the little carp, and have a special admiration for its 
head and its tongue, or the sort of palate which is called 
the tongue in carps. They sometimes admit, however, 
that the body of the fish is insipid, and requires a good 
sauce. 

Bard is an old English as well as an old French word, 
of origin uncertain, for horse-armour. It was also used 
for armour in general. Thus the chronicler Stowe speaks 
of 1500 men "barded and richly trapped." Noun or 
verb, the word is not now used save in the language of 
the kitchen, where it refers to the thin slices of bacon in 
which any kind of flesh likely to dry up in cooking, but 
more especially in roasting, is swathed. The metaphor has 
been as far as this particular word is concerned borrowed 
from the French kitchen. In England in the time of 
Chaucer, and in the kitchen of Richard II., a bird coated 
in this way with bacon was said to be armed or enarmed- 
The learned and reverend editors of the cookery-books 
which remain to us from that time seem to be not a little 
puzzled when they read of cranes and herons being " armed 
or enarmed with lards of swyne," and fancy it must mean 
larded in the modem acceptation. It means barded ; and 
if one could recover the old MS. of The Forme of Cury^ 
the receipt-book of Richard's court, it would probably be 
found that in many instances in which the editor. Dr. 
Pegge, read lard, the scribe wrote bard. 

Barley Broth. — Any soup with barley in it may be 
called barley broth. The French make it by simply boiling 



Batter 



55 



barley and adding it to a clear gravy soup, or to any of the 
vegetable sonps. The name in this country is almost 
always confined to what is otherwise called Scotch broth 
or mutton broth, the principle of which is in England 
but half understood. One of the most important and 
practical questions in cookery turns upon it, and it will be 
found explained under the head of Scotch Broth. 

Barley Cream. — The soup which the French call Creme 
d'orge. Wash and blanch half a pound of pearl barley, 
and boil it either with water or with broth — about a 
quart. When thoroughly well done, rub it through a sieve 
and add it to chicken broth. Sometimes there may be 
added also a pur^e of chicken or of veaL Sometimes 
chickens newly roasted are cut to pieces and served in 
this soup. 

Basil, or sweet Basil, is a plant belonging to the 
labiate family, which abounds in pot-herbs — mint, mar- 
joram, savory, and the rest. Its leaves have a strong 
flavour of cloves, and are sometimes used in salads as well 
as in the pot. Basil is an annual which grows in English 
gardens, but we have nearly always to send to Italy for 
the seeds. 

Bath Bun. — Use paste No. 9. 

Batter, for fritters and for frying meat and vegetables. 
Take equal quantities of flour and of liquid. Say there 
are ten ounces of flour — the liquid will be represented by 
two ounces of melted butter and half a pint (eight ounces) 
of lukewarm water. Mix these well together with a little 
salt, which will be increased in quantity if the batter is 
to be used for meat or vegetables. According to the 
purpose to be served, some part of the water may be 
replaced by milk, by wine, by brandy, or by beer. In the 
German batter there is beer. Whether yolks of eggs should 
be added is a moot point For a rich cream add two yolks, 



S6 Bavarois 



bnt also in this case add somewhat to the qoantiiy of water, 
and indeed it must be remembered as modifying the above 
measurements that some kinds of flour require more water 
than others. Work the mixture perfectly smooth. When 
wanted for the fire add to it two or three whites of eggs 
which have been whisked into a firm froth. 

Italian Batter, — ^The peculiarity of this is that there is 
no water in it and no butter. The liquid part is formed of 
oil, of yolks of eggs, and of milk. Those who are disposed 
to play pranks may leave out the milk and put white wine 
or cider instead. The batter is finished as usual with 
frothed whites of eggs. 

Baiter Pudding. — ^There are several varieties of it — as 
the Batter Pudding, the Hasty Pudding, and the York- 
shire Pudding ; but none is to be commended except the 
last. 

Bavarois — Bavarian cheese. Boil as much of the 
best milk as will half fill the mould or moulds to be used. 
Sugar it, and add whatever flavour may be chosen — coflee, 
vanilla, fruit syrups, or aught else. Mix in (say for a 
quart of milk) eight yolks of eggs ; and let the mixture 
thicken with a low heat on the comer of the stove, stirring 
it well. Add an ounce of dissolved isinglass ; then pass 
it through a tammy and let it cool. Being cool, it is to 
be mixed well with some whipt cream, poured as swiftly 
as possible into a mould which has been rubbed with oil of 
sweet almonds, and given over to the ice-box. Above all 
things let there be no delay between the mixing in of the 
whipt cream and the chilling with ice. It will take an 
hour and a half for the cheese to set well, and then it can 
be turned out. 

Bay Leaf. — This is indeed poetry in the pot — Daphne 
at our lips. There is scarcely a savoury dish made which 
is not perfumed with a faggot of herbs and one of these 



Biamaise 5 7 



herbs is a bay leaf, It is the only use to which we now 
put our laurels. The Greeks had their crowns of laurel 
and of parsley. We with all humility cast our crowns of 
laurel and of parsley into the pot. What a glorious thing 
it would be if the bays we have given over to our cooks 
would bring them ihe inspiration of great Apollo and 
ensure to us dinners worthy of the gods I 

Beans are more than beans, good for food and pleasant 
to the taste : they are a moral lesson. The priests of 
Egypt held it a crime even to look at beans — the very sight 
of them unclean. Lucian introduces a philosopher in hell 
declaring that it would be difficult to say which were the 
greater crime — ^to eat beans, or to eat one's father's head. 
Pythagoras forbade his disciples to eat beans, because they 
are formed of the rotten ooze out of which man was created. 
The Romans ate beans at funerals with awe, from the idea 
that the souls of the dead were in them. Two thousand 
years pass by, and here are we now eating beans with the 
most thorough enjoyment and the most perfect unconcern. 
Moral — Get rid of prejudice and call nothing unclean. 

Windsor beans are the best — so called because this variety 
was first cultivated at Windsor by Dutch gardeners. There 
is still a garden near Eton called the Dutchman's Garden. 
Whether for a garnish or for a dish by themselves, they are 
to be simply boiled with salt and served with a Maitre 
d'Hotel or a Poulette sauce. It is a question whether in 
being sent to table they are to be skinned or not. The 
skins are troublesome — therefore skin them. The skins, 
although not swallowed, have an agreeable bitter — therefore 
leave them on. Each one must choose for himself. 

The kidney or French bean is of a different species, and 
it is in every way most convenient to call it by the well- 
known name of haricot, accepted throughout Europe. 

B]£arnaisb — Filet k la B^amaisa This is not a local 
dish, as the name seems to indicate. It is a mode of 



58 Beauvilliers 



serving the fillet steak invented by the great chef who left 
the service of the Duchess of Berri to preside over the 
H6tel Henri Quatre at St. Germains, which is to Paris 
what the Star and Garter at Richmond is to London. In 
honoar of Henri IV. he named the sauce for his 
steak (equally good for a mutton chop) — B&imaise. It 
is a butter-sauce, and may be described shortly as a hot 
mayonnaise. Many cooks make a fuss about this sauce, 
and pretend that it requires a long preparation. It is very 
simple, as will be seen from the receipt, and can be pro- 
duced perfectly in a quarter of an hour. The only diffi- 
culty about it is, that it requires the addition of chopped 
tarragon, which is not always in season. 

Bdamaise Sauce is made with yolks of eggs and 
ounces of butter in equal numbers— say four — as follows. 
Put the yolks of eggs with one ounce of butter and a little 
salt and pepper on the fire, and stir them till they begin 
to thicken. Take them off the fire, add a second ounce of 
butter, and stir them over the fire for two minutes more. 
Take them off again for the third ounce, and yet again for 
the fourth ounce, and proceed as before. Lastly, add a 
tablespoonful of chopped tarragon^ or one of ravigote and a 
teaspoonful of tarragon vinegar. 

Beauvilliers, starting in 1782, was for many years the 
most famous restaurateur in Paris. He was the first to 
make the restaurant perfect in every detail as we have it 
now, ^ath an elegant dining-room, with well-appointed 
tables, with waiters properly attired, in addition to a first- 
rate cellar and a perfect kitchen. He made and lost his 
fortune several times over, so that his success was variable ; 
but when he was at his best no one ever surpassed him 
in his profession. As he spoke many languages, he was in 
special favour with foreigners, and he had a rare tact in 
entertaining his guests. In the latter part of his career 
(1814) he published in two volumes UArt du Cuisinier, 



Becafico 59 

It was the best cookery book that had ever been pub- 
lished — simple, methodical, and exact. It is now out of 
date, but it may still be consulted with advantage. Car^me 
was very jealous of the book, and he and his follow- 
ing were fond of pointing out that its author was no 
great cook. Beauvilliers, Ihough an admirable manager, 
may not have been a great cook, but still his work is of 
immense authority. Nestor Boqueplan has asserted, but I 
know not on what grounds, that he was assisted in its pre- 
paration by Brillat-Savarin. The book is a great landmark 
in the history of the kitchen. Its receipts are classical, 
and show precisely the position of the art on the &11 of the 
French Empire. Beauvilliers and CarSme may be taken 
as representative men at the head of two opposite schools 
of cookery, which have been playfully described by Mr. 
Hayward as the classical and the romantic. ^^ Having 
spoken," says Mr. Hayward, ^^of Beauvilliers and CarSme 
as chiefs of two rival schools of art, we may naturally be 
expected to distinguish them. We should say that 
Beauvilliers was more remarkable for judgment and 
CarSme for invention — that Beauvilliers exhausted the old 
world of art and Car6me discovered a new one — ^that 
Beauvilliers rigidly adhered to the unities and Cardme 
snatched a grace beyond them — ^that there was more aplomb 
in the touch of Beauvilliers, more curious felicity in 
CarSme's — that Beauvilliers was great in an entree and 
CarSme sublime in an entremet — that we would bet Beau- 
villiers against the world for a rot ; but should wish 
Cardme to prepare the sauce were we under the necessity 
of eating up an elephant or our grandfather." 

Becafico. — The fig-pecker, a small bird something like 
a nightingale which feeds on figs and grapes, that give to 
its flesh in the autumn a peculiar delicacy. It has been 
said that if the becafico were only as big as a pheasant it 
would be worth an acre of land. As it is rarely to be seen 



6o Bechamel 



at an English table, it belongs to the category of pleasures 
to be dreamt of. Bacon said that some books are to be 
read thoroughly, some are to be tasted only, and others 
may be read by deputy. Unfortunately for us, the beca- 
fico has to be eaten by deputy and enjoyed in a reverie. 

BECHAMEL is a sauce which takes its name from Louis 
de B^chameil or Bechamel, Marquis de Nointel, who is 
described as a financier, bat is chiefly known as Maitre 
d'Hdtel (Lord Steward of the Household) of Louis XIV. 
He died in Paris in 1703, and must have been a poor sort 
of creature if the story which St. Simon tells of him be 
true. He fancied that he resembled the Comte de Gram- 
mont, and being too proud of it, did all he could by dress 
and manner to nurse the illusion. One day Grammont 
saw him walking in the Tuileries, and determined to make 
sport of him. He asked the bystanders what they would 
bet against his giving a kick to the Marquis de Nointel in 
what is commonly considered the most honourable part of 
the body, and against the kick being received as a compli- 
ment. Bets were made and the kick was given. Bechamel 
turned round astonished. Grammont hastened to explain 
that the kick was intended for his nephew — ^he really 
fancied that it was his nephew he saw before him. Becha- 
mel was instantly appeased, and strolled away arm-in-arm 
with Grammont, to his own great delight^ and amid the 
laughter of the court. A prodigy of meanness^ a gigantic 
parasite, an inspired idiot, this B^hamel invented a sauce 
which will shed a halo round his name through endless 
ages. Nothing can be more simple. When once it is 
described we wonder that it was never thought of before. 
The white sauce known as Velvet-down is mixed with an 
equal quantity of cream — that is all, and there is Bechamel. 
The leamedest of men and the cunningest of cooks had 
been compassing heaven and earth to find out a new and 
perfect sauce. It was left for the most fortunate of ninnies 



Bichamel 6 1 



and the most Bnperfluous of puppies to hit upon a com- 
bination which has every day since then, for one hour 
out of the twenty-four, contributed more to the peace and 
satisfaction of mankind than any other relish in the range 
of cookery. In presence of such a fact as this one half 
understands and sympathises with those races of men who 
worship their idiots. It is difficult to venerate fools^ but 
at least henceforth let us not despise them. One is always 
inclined to kick a sublime puppy, forgetting that to him 
also, as to another B^hamel, may be revealed in vision 
secrets of art which are concealed from the wise and good. 

Bichamel^ as above mentioned, is composed of Velvet- 
down and cream in equal proportions. Cream, however, 
is a wide word, and may mean almost anything from milk 
to the richest double cream. There are some dairies whose 
milk is as good as the cream of others. This accounts for 
the fact that in some of the receipts for Bechamel we are 
told to take cream^ to reduce it to half its volume by rapid 
boiling, and then to mix it in equal quantities with Velvet- 
down. 

Cold B4chamel — for cold chicken, turbot, and other 
viands. Mix with the Bechamel, so as to stiffen it when 
cold^ a few spoonfuls of any clear white stock that has 
turned to jelly — as the jelly of chicken broth, veal broth, 
or calves' feet. 

Mock Bechamel. — Put into a saucepan four ounces of 
butter^ with a sliced onion, a sliced carrot, a faggot of 
parsley, a little nutmeg, pepper and salt. Let them stew 
slowly for twenty minutes or half an hour. Then stir in 
about four oimces of flour and a pint of new milk^ a little 
at a time. Boil this gently for half an hour till the milk 
is well reduced, taking every care to avoid burning. Lastly 
pass it through a strainer. Some cooks when they find the 
sauce too thin, through the thinness of ihe milk; choose to 



62 Beef 

thicken it with yolks of egg. This may be very nice, bat 
it destroys the character of the B^hamel. 

Beef. — The influence of the ox on human society, and 
more especially on the temperament of Mr. John Ball, 
deserves a chapter to itself. There is room for but a word. 
No animal has been so often taken for a god as the bull, 
or for a goddess as the cow ; and though we may not 
allow them so much honour, it cannot be denied that those 
races of men who own the best of them and partake the 
most of them have attained the highest civilization. From 
the age of myth to these ages of doubt, Europa in her 
most perfect form has been borne on the back of Japiter 
Bos. 

Roast Beef* — The French and the English kitchens have 
long been at variance as to the best mode of utilising beef. 
The French are loud in their praises of beef broth, and 
stick with wonderful devotion to boiled beef. In England 
the value of beef broth is fully admitted ; but boiled beef 
is a byword ; and '' The Roast Beef of Old England " is 
known all over the world. It is served with the simplest 
of meat gravies, nothing like what the French call by that 
name, which is a thick cuUis — ^a strong and extravagant 
decoction of beef, veal and ham, boiled down to a glaze. 
The only other sauce which is much used with it is horse- 
radish sauce ; but it is excellent also with a B^maise 
sauce, or with Robert. It is nearly always accompanied 
by Yorkshire pudding, and potatoes in some form or other ; 
but it would be well to popularise also, as an attendant, the 
white haricot bean, either plain or worked up in the Breton 
wav. 

There is an odd disagreement about the fillet of beef. 
Many people seem to regard it as the best part of the 
sirloin. Perhaps they do so because of its tenderness; 
but its taste is such that when the French roast a whole 
fillet, as they often do by itself, they lard it with bacon, 






Beef 63 



they steep it for twenty-four hours in wine, oil, salt, 
pepper and onions, to give it a flavour; they anoint it 
with thick meat gravy, and they serve it with sharp sauce. 
This is not saying much for the fillet, which the French, 
however, delight to honour in the form of steaks. 

Beefsteak is even more popular in England than roast 
beef, and there is a common saying that the dinner which 
the Englishman most enjoys is just such a dinner as the 
Beefsteak Club— composed of very choice feeders — was 
started to ensure. There is more variety, too, in a beef- 
steak than many people imagine. The favourite in this 
country appears to be a rump-steak. What the French 
understand by a bifteck is cut from the sirloin. Besides 
which there is the rib-steak or entrecdte, cut from the ribs 
of beef ; and also that which is perhaps most prized of all 
— certainly it commands the highest price — ^the fillet-steak. 
Needless to say that the steak which has attained pre- 
eminence in England is always grilled (see Grill), is 
served as hot as possible, with the taste of the fire on it, 
and is eaten for the most part plain, in the juice that oozes 
from it, or vrith a pat of fresh butter upon it. 

Beefsteak toith Oyster Sauce. — When an Englishman 
takes a sauce with his steak, this is what he first thinks 
of. But there is a particular way of making the sauce 
for broiled meat, which is not the same as for fish. 

Beefsteak a la Mattre cTIISteL — This is the best known 
of the French steaks. It is cut usually from the sirloin, 
and is served with a piece of mattre d'hotel butter melting 
upon it in the dish. 

Beefsteak toith Anchovt/ Butter, — Served with a piece of 
anchovy butter melting upon it, as it is taken from the 
fire. 

Beefsteak aux Fines Herbes. — A steak with some ravi- 
gote butter melting upon it. 



64 Beef 

Beefsteak of Bordeaux (Entrecdte k la Bordelaise). — A 
rib-steak with a piece of maitre d'hdtel batter, into which 
has been worked a chopped shalot. See Bordeaux. 

Beefsteak h la B&imaise, — A fillet-steak with a B^ar- 
naise sauce poured oyer it. 

Beefsteak ii la Cli&teaubriand. — See Chftteaubriand. It 
is twice the thickness of ordinary steaks. 

For a garnish to any of these steaks potatoes hold the 
first place— cooked in various ways. Sometimes fried 
onions are in request, but in this case it would be much 
better to order potatoes done up with onions in the Lyon- 
nese way. Grilled mushrooms or tomatos are among 
the best garnishes for beefsteak; after which may rank 
cauliflower^ Brussels sprouts, haricot pods, and haricot 
beans. 

Beefsteak Pie* — Take two or three pounds of rump- 
steak, clear it of fat, and cut it into collops two or three 
inches in diameter. Put them into a pie-dish, layer upon 
layer, dredged with a little flour, and duly seasoned with 
pepper, salt, and chopped onion or shalot Pour over 
them some good gravy or broth — good enough when the 
pie is cold to turn to jelly. Most cooks are content with 
water, but as the pie is very often eaten cold, the result is 
an odious watery sauce. Cover the pie up in the usual 
way, and let it bake for an hour or so. The pie is mightily 
improved by the addition of a dozen oysters and their 
liquor for every pound of beef. 

Beefsteak Pudding contains either the same ingredients 
as the foregoing, or the same as kidney pudding. 

Beefsteak Tossed — in French, sautA, These are steaks 
either of the usual size, or cut up into thin collops about 
two or three inches in diameter. English cooks frequently 
do their steaks in the frying-pan when they have not got 
a fire good enough to broil them. In that case they should 



Beef 65 

do so frankly, and not make a pretence of broiling. Pat 
the steak or the coUops with a piece of batter into the pan^ 
and fry them briskly on each side, bat take care not to 
bum the batter. When the meat is done take it oat. 
Then dredge in a little flonr into the pan, and add a ladle- 
fal of grayy or broth, which after being stirred on the fire 
for a minnte or two maj be strained into a sancepan; 
into which also pat a qaantitj of olives, or of mnshrooms, 
or of oysters, which have been previoasly prepared, and heat 
them ap in the sance. A glass of sherry or Marsala may 
go with them, or may take their place. This is not a very 
brilliant sabstitute for a good grilled steak ; bat the French 
take to it — ^in the form of the Filet sant^ anx olives, aax 
champignons, anx traffes, aa vin de Mad^re. 

Beefsteak Stewed. — Have a large and thick ramp-steak, 
— even more than may be necessary, for this is a dish which, 
if the saace be good and plentiful, seems to sarpass itself 
when cold, and comes in graciously at breakfast and at 
sapper. Pat the steak with batter into an oblong pan 
that will hold it nicely laid oat at length ; brown it on 
both sides, dredging it lightly with floar ; and when it has 
taken coloar poar over it broth enough to cover it and 
more than cover it. Sometimes water is used; bat this 
is a mistake, as it is important that the sance when cold 
should be almost a jelly. Set the steak to boil, skim it, 
add to it a Mirepoix of red wine, and let it simmer gently 
for two or even three hours. A quarter of an hour before 
it ought to be ready, see how the sauce is in consistence 
and in taste. This is especially necessary for those cooks 
who moisten the steak with water or with broth which is 
too thin. The sauce should be a cullis, and if it is not so 
it may be well to stir into it a little corn-flour. As for 
taste it is perilous to attempt to improve upon a good 
Mirepoix ; but mushroom ketchup sometimes comes in 
well if used with discretion ; pepper may be needed ; and 

5 



66 Beef 

all mention of salt has been hitherto omitted because of the 
bacon and the ham in the Mirepoix. 

Beef a la mode, — Take some of the veiny piece, the thick 
flank or the rump, and let it be five inches thick. Cut 
some bacon fat for larding, and let the lardoons be of 
considerable size — say half an inch thick. Dip them first 
into vinegar, and then into a mixed powder made up of 
pepper, salt, thyme, bayleaf and parsley, very finely 
chopped. Lard the beef with them through and through. 
Melt some fat in a large brazier or stewpan ; put the beef 
into it and fry it for a quarter of an hour. Next add to it 
two calf's feet, half a pint of white wine, half a pint of 
broth and half a pint of water, together with salt. Let 
it boil and skim it. Then add two or three carrots, two 
or three onions, two or three cloves, and a faggot of swet»t 
herbs. Cover up the brazier or the stewpan tight, so that 
there may be no evaporation, and let it stew very gently 
for five or six hours. The beef is to be served with the 
calfs feet cut up and the carrots. The gravy is to be 
strained, freed from fat, reduced to half, and poured over 
the beef. In addition to the pieces of calfs feet and the 
carrots for a garnish, it is usual to provide a quantity of 
small onions browned and cooked apart. 

Salted and Spiced Beef. — The salting and spicing may 
for the most part be left to the butcher who provides the 
meat — round, edgebone, silverside, brisket, or whatever it 
be. The following, however, are the usual quantities : — 

For salting — reduce to a fine powder one ounce of salt- 
petre with three of sugar, and rub this well into the meat. 
Then rub in three-quarters of a pound of salt, also pow- 
dered. Rubbing and turning every day, a piece of beef — 
say sixteen pounds — should be ready in nine or ten days. 
Obser^'e that there are sixteen ounces of pickle for sixteen 
pounds of meat. 

For spicing — say a good- sized Bound. Rub into the 



Beetroot 67 

^ 

beef half a pound of brown sagar, and leave it for two 
days. Then make a powder consisting of one ponnd of 
salt, two ounces of saltpetre, two ounces of black pepper, 
two ounces of allspice, two ounces of juniper berries — well 
mixed together. Bub this into the beef and turn it daily ; 
k wiU be ready in three weeka. 

For cooking — ^the usual way is to wash off the salt 
and spice ; to boil the ordinary salt beef in water, 
and to serve it with some of its liquor ; also with a 
garnish of greens, carrots, and sometimes dumplings. But 
if people take for three weeks the trouble to get up a 
Round of beef— one of the boasts of English cookery — they 
may as well eook it in the best way, which is to place it, 
with a very little water — a cupful will do — in a pot of its 
own size, metal or earthen, to surround it and cover it 
with beef-fat chopped, and to bake it in the oven for five 
or six hours. The difference is incredible between the 
tenderness and suoculence of a Bound boiled in water, at 
a temperature below 212'', and one baked in beef-fat at 
^00" or 400*. The Miniature round of beef — that is, ribs 
of beef, boned and rolled — may be done in the same way 
with admirable effect, though of course the measurements 
must vary. The larger round of beef may be reckoned 
at twenty-five pounds. What is called Pressed Beef is 
nothing but the brisket, pickled as above with salt, sugar, 
saltpetre and mixed spices — left in this pickle for a week, 
boiled till tender, and pressed under a heavy weight until 
cold. 

Beetroot. — ^The Greeks held the beet in such esteem 
that they used to offer it to Apollo at Delphi on silver, and 
they preferred its leaves to lettuce. The leaves are hardly 
ever used now imless they may be so in Brabant, where in 
Flemish cookery — and these Flemings were good judges— 
they took &e place of spinach, which belongs to the 
same family. We make use only of the root now, and that 



68 Beignet 

but little save for the manafacture of sugar. After the 
potato it is the most nourishing of all the roots, but its 
taste is mawkish when cooked, and it is not valued except 
for salads. Beetroot and Spanish onion make a capital 
winter salad ; so also beetroot and celery or beetroot and 
celeriac. Even to green salads, as the cabbage lettuce, 
a slice or two is a welcome addition. 

Beignet is one of those words — abounding in the French 
kitchen, and more there than in the kitchen of any other 
country — which seem to defy explanation. All we can say 
of it is that it means a fritter. 

Bentlet, Richard, one of the greatest scholars of 
modem times, and certainly the most learned man of his 
day. He made this incisive observation to one of his 
pupils, — " Sir, if you drink ale you will think ale," which 
Brillat-Savarin has refined and generalised into the apho- 
rism : " Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai ce que tu es." 

Betst Prig helped herself too often from the teapot 
which contained not tea but rum. It was more than 
Mrs. Gamp could bear. She stopped the hand of Mrs. Prig 
with her own and said with great feeling, — " No, Betsy. 
Drink fiair, whatever you do I" And this supreme rule has 
therefore in history been associated indissolubly with the 
name of the forgetful Betsy. 

BiGARADE Sauce. — Bigarade is the French name for a 
Seville orange, and the sauce is described under its English 
name of Orange Gravy Sauce. 

Bisque is one of those words which when he has the 
clue to them become the delight of a philologer. It presents 
as pretty a puzzle as exists in any language. The French 
lexicographers have given it up as insoluble. Brachet and 
Littr^ say frankly that its origin is unknown ; the German 
Scheler follows suit. And, after all, a very little research 



Bisque 69 

might have led the learned Frenchmen to the true meaning 
of the word. They have been put oflF the soent by trusting 
to modem usage. Littr^ defines a bisque as a soup of cray- 
fish, and that is what it usually means in our day. He has 
failed however to observe that purists in France never call 
the soup of crayfish a bisque — they always say a bisque 
d'dcreviasesy implying that there may be a bisque of some- 
thing else. In some of the old French cookery books the 
crayfish soup is described perfectly as Fotage aux ^crivisses 
en fa^on de bisque. The word is now employed exactly as we 
employ such words as marmalade, wine, pomatum, orgeat, 
saveloy. Marmalade is a conserve of quinces — we give 
• the name to a conserve of oranges. Wine is the juice of 
the grape ; but we speak of cowslip and gooseberry wine. 
Pomatum is a cosmetic of apples, and never now does an 
apple enter into it. Orgeat ought to be no other than 
barley-water — ^it is now made of almonds without a grain 
of barley. Saveloy, from the French cervelas, formerly 
cervelat, is a sausage made of brains, and now there are no 
brains in it. Precisely in. the same way, bisque was a soup 
of wood-pigeons, and it is- now never made of wood- 
pigeons, but nearly always of crayfish. 

Piscium et summa genus luesit uhno 
Nota qun sedea fuerat columblB. 

Any one who will go back to the French cookery books 
of the seventeenth century will find invariably tirnt the 
bisque is made of pigeons, or else of small birds such as 
quails or partridges, which may be supposed superior to 
them. It was^ not merely a soup : one of the books de- 
scribes it accurately as a soup with a ragout in it; and for 
the precise meaning of Ragout in French tun» to the word. 
La "Varenne, the greatest cook of the seventeenth century 
before Vatel, gives two receipts for pigeon soup, neither of 
which he denotes by the name of bisque ; but he also gives 
two, and only two, receipts for bisque, and they are both 



yo Bisque 

- ■--  - - — ^^= — — -- — " — - — ^^^ — .- — = — = — — — . — . — ^ 

soups of pigeon with a ragout or rich garniture added — 
somethinor between the Financial and the Tartle Belish. 
If the reader goes on turning the pages of La Yarenne's 
book he will come to a receipt for roasting wood-pigeons ; 
he will find that they are called hiset$; and he will there at 
once detect the origin of the bisque or wood-pigeon broth. 
The bisque was a soup of the biset — ^with the biset added 
to it in the tureen together with a ragout or relish. 

Having reached this point, the discussion ttiigbt fairly 
come to an end. The explanation of the bisque is there^ even 
if we can go no further. There is a detail, however, which 
it would be well to account for. How are we to aocount 
for the fourth letter in bisque, which does not appear in 
biset ? This involves the further question. How does the 
wood-pigeon come to be called biset ? And here, if we go 
to the Frenchmen for assistance, we find that they are al) 
wrong — or if not absolutely wrong, helpless. They say that 
biset comes from the adjective of colour, bis — ^brown or 
whitey-brown ; and they candidly confess ihat they know 
not whence bis in this sense comes. It is impossible to 
mention the name of Littr^ without respect for his extra- 
ordinary merits as a lexicographer, and yet be too seems to 
be infected with the Frenchman's wildness in etymology. 
The real root of biset is to be found in &ot», and the root of 
bois is the Low Latin hoseuBy which in English survives in 
hosky buiky and hush^ and which turns up in French as 
bisque^ bois^ buisy and baisson. Just as the Latin discus 
dropt the k sound and was transformed into dais, while at 
the same time there survived a doublet retaining it^^isgue ; 
so the Latin boscus has survived with the h sound in 
bisque^ and without it in bois and bisei. I find in my notes 
a statement which I am unable for the moment to verify — 
that Humboldt has derived the name of Basque, or Biscay, 
from Basoa, a forest, and Baso-coa, belonging to a forest. 
It would be curious if this should turn out to be the same 
word, but it is immaterial to the argument. Enough has 



Bisque 7 1 

been stated to show tliat a consonant has dropped out of 
bisety and that the word is by rights bisquet. It does not 
follow from this that the French etymologists are absolutely 
wrong in connecting biset with the colour bis — ^light-brown ; 
but if there is any justification for them, it is not because 
the wood-pigeon is of a light-brown colour, but because 
light-brown is the colour of wood^ and it is not impossible 
that the colour as well as the pigeon may be named fVom the 
wood. Neither, again, does it follow that, taken literally 
and by themselves, bisque and biset mean anything more 
than wood or belonging to a wood. Just as tree came to 
signify the cross, and irons fetters, the name of the wood 
might easily pass to the pigeon, and the name of the pigeon 
to the soup. It is still in the French idiom to add the 
word pigeon to biset, — saying pigeon biset. 

The reader will probably expect to find here the old receipt 
for Bisque, and I give him with pleasure the receipt of La 
Varenne, which runs as follows :— '* Bisque of Young 
Pigeons. Take young pigeons, cleanse them well and 
truss them up, which you shall do in making a hole with a 
knife below the stomach, and thrusting the legs through 
it. Whiten them ; then put them in the pot with a small 
faggot of fine herbs, and fill the pot with the best broth 
you have, and have a special care that it may not become 
black.'' The grand object was to make it red — to produce 
a bisque rouge ; and in fact it was to develop redness that 
the crayfish came into play and in the end displaced the 
pigeon. " Then dry your bread and stew it (mitonnez) in 
the pigeon broth. Then take it up (dressez), after it is well 
seasoned with salt, pepper and cloves, garnish it (that is 
the bisque) with the young pigeons, cockscombs, sweet- 
breads, mushrooms, mutton«-juioe, pistachios. Serve, and 
garnish the rims of the dish with slices of lemon." 

This, it will be observed, is a soup of pigeons with 
the pigeons and a Ragout (see Bagout) in it. What 
is now called Bisque is neither a soup of pigeons, nor is it 



72 Black Cock 



a soup of any kind with what is properly called a Bagoat 
in it For the crayfish soap of £Eune we mnst go to the 
pages allotted to the crayfish, and not seek for it in the 
nest of the wood-pigeon. 

Black Butter. — See Butter. 

Black Cock is a kind of Oronse and to be treated as 
snch. 

Black Puddings (Boudins Noirs) are made of pig's 
blood. This sounds gross enough, not to say offensiye and 
horrible. Nevertheless, with the gore of the unclean beast 
there is mingled an adorable onion flavour which redeems 
it firom odium, and seduces mortals like another Circe. 
The human beings who have been able to resist the san- 
guinolent puddings of the hog are few indeed. In France, 
among the middle classes, it is considered a sacred duty to 
eat them on Christmas eve, after returning from the mid- 
night mass. The English do not make much of Christmas 
eve, but these black puddings are a fair excuse for making 
more of it Only it is best to eat them not in the French 
but in the Flemish style. The French eat them as they 
are ; the Flemings with a companion dish of baked apples. 
It corresponds to the English plan of taking apple sauce 
with pork or goose. 

Blanc — See the Faggot of Pot-herbs. 

Blanch. — To scald vegetables (but sometimes also meat) 
by placing them for a few minutes with salt in boiling 
water, after which they are passed into cold water. This, 
in the case of vegetables, is to tone down too strong a 
taste, and in the case of meat (as calfs head and feet) to 
soften it 

Blancmanoer. — It is needless to give the old receipt for 
this, because nobody would eat it. In the days of the 
English king Richard II. it was a fowl first roasted, then 



Blancmanger 73 



cut to pieces and served in symp which was whitened 
with milk, rice, and.ahnond paste. As late as the days 
of Madame de Maintenon — that is, at the end of the 
reign of Lonis XIY . — the court physician, Fagon, ordered 
it to be prepared of the breasts of fowls and almond milk 
for consumptive patients ; and later on, when we come to 
the article Grallimawfrey, it will be seen that the title of the 
dish implies a fowL 

For tibe modem receipt, the best and simplest is that of 
Car6me, and depend upon it when CarSme is simple he has 
right upon his side. He is lond in his praise of it, and 
hazards the prophecy that Blancmanger prepared in his 
simple way will always be preferred to other creams, and 
even to the most beaatifnl jellies, becanse of the pleasant, 
noorishing, and soothing qualities of the almond. Unhap- 
pily for his renown as a prophet, Blancmanger is losing its 
popularity, because although the almonds may be as good 
and as loved as ever, the world has ceased to believe in 
isinglass, and laughs to scorn the gelatine which is too often 
used instead of it. 

Blanch a pound of sweet almonds and twenty bitter ones. 
Pound them in a mortar, moistening them from time to 
time with half a spoonful of water to keep them from turn- 
ing to oil. When they are pounded quite smooth, pass them 
into a bowl, and mix them with five wineglassfuls of filtered 
water. Then arrange a napkin over an oval dish, so that 
the almond milk may be poured into it and strained through 
it by twisting it at either end. Add twelve ounces of sifted 
sugar, and when this is dissolved pass the Blancmanger a 
second time through the napkin. Next mix into it, some- 
what more than warm, an ounce of clarified isinglass. Last 
of all pour it into a mould which has been rubbed with 
sweet oil of almonds, and which has been settled on ice. 
The Blancmanger thus prepared will be delightful in itself, 
but any flavour wished for may be added to it — as rum, 
lemon, vanilla, coffee, chocolate, strawberry. 



74 Blanqtutte 



Blanqi^tte is as good a name as one could get for a 
white sauoe, and it is a name which Qiight well be adopted 
in England, where it would be thoroughlj understood. 
There is absolutely no difference between a Blanquette 
flauoe and the so-called AUemande or German sauce, 
unless it be this — ^that occasionallj there is chopped parsley 
put into the former. A Blanquette of fowls, of sweet* 
breads, or of yeal, means simply the serving of these 
things in the white AUemande. The white parsley and 
butter sauce which is so common in England with boiled 
chickens is but a rough and ready Blanquette. The 
Poulette sauce is the same thing, with sometimes chopped 
mushrooms added and with a squeeze of lemon. 

Bleu (au bleu). — ^A phrase of the French kitchen for 
the simplest method of cooking fish. It means cooking 
it either in plain salt and water, or in white wine with 
parsley and onions. Originally the wine was red ; and 
hence the name blue — the common red wine about Paris 
being called small blue (petit bleu), as we say small beer 
in England. What with the old style and the new, 
however, there is an odd medley of colours — white, red, 
and blae. 

Blonde de Veau is described at length in the article on 
Soup. It is a double veal broth, which is much in request 
for mixing with soups and sauces for its smooth gelatinous 
texture, and also for its fine colour and flavour, which are 
brought out by making it fall to a glaze at an early stage 
of its preparation. Perhaps it is overrated ; it certainly 
was at one time. Early in the last century it became all 
the rage in France. There is a letter of Voltaire's in which 
he invites St. Lambert to visit him at Cirey. " Come to 
Cirey," he says. " There Madame du Ch&telet will not 
poison you. There is not a spoonful of beef gravy (jus) in 
her kitchen ; everything is done with blonde de veau : we 
shall live a hundred years, and you will never die." 



Boarshead 7 5 



BoARSHEAD^ even as a Christmas dish, has gone so com- 
pletely out of use, that it is needless to give any receipt 
for its preparation. But one thing about it deserves to 
be remembered. We all more or less, while the edge 
of hunger is upon us, look forward to our food with 
some eagerness. But what approach can we make to the 
lusty feeling of our forefathers, who when they brought 
on the boarshead honoured it with a procession from the 
kitchen, and made merry before and after with a song ? 
Imagine the frankness of the feeling which breathes in 
the following stanzas ; and let us ask ourselves — Are 
we better than our fathers because we should be rather 
ashamed to lead a procession of the boarshead and to give 
utterance to their jolly anticipations of the coming feast ? 

Caput apri defero 

Reddens laudes Domino. 
iThe boar's head in hand bring I, 
With garlands gay and rosemary ; 
I pray you all sing merrily 

Qui estis in oonviyio. 

The boar's head, I understand, 
Is the chief serrioe in this land ; 
Look wkerever it be found, 
Servite cum oantioo. 

Be glad, both more and less. 

For this hath ordained our steward. 
To cheer you all this Christmas — 
The boar's head and mustard ! 
Caput apri defero 
Reddens laudes Domino. 

Do not let us deceive ourselves. There is more glut- 
tony now in the world than ever there was, and none the 
less because we are quiet over it-^nd pretend to think 
a great deal more of the ewiffkeit. Perhaps our dinners 
would agree with us better and we should have less of that 
dyspepsia which distresses modem civilization if we could 



76 Boiling 

go to our food with singing like oar ancestors, and if we 
could render thanks for it to God with a sense of enjoy- 
ment as lusty as iheirs« 

Boiling. — If one might judge by the use of the word, 
there is no mode of cookery so common as boiling. As 
a matter of fact, however^ true boiling is extremely rare, 
and is nearly always of short duration. Boiling in the 
strict sense is a word of ihe widest and yagnest meaiiing. 
Milk will boil at a comparatively low temperature ; so will 
spirits ; on the other hand, fats and oils have their boiling 
point at a prodigious heat ; but in common parlance, and 
in the language of the kitdien, to boil means to produce 
the temperature of boiling water — that is, 212^ Fahrenheit 
Now, we may speak of boiling as much as we like ; but in 
point of fact there is very little cooking performed at this 
heat of 212^. Nearly all cooking is done either a little 
below this degree or very much above it. The cooking 
which is done above the boiling point (as broiling, baking, 
frying, roasting) develops the peculiar roast flavours at a 
temperature of 400° and upwards. The cooking which is 
done below the boiling point, and is known as stewing, 
simmering, seething, slow4)oiling, works itself out often 
as low as 170°, but always below 212^. If all cookery is 
performed either a little below the boiling point of water 
or very high above it, the question may be asked — Is there 
any good in boiling proper, and what is the object of it ? 
Boiling heat is required almost solely for two purposes, and 
no more. 1. In the first place, for rapid reduction. One 
wants to evaporate the water from a sauce, an infusion, or 
a decoction, from vinegar, from wine, from milk. For this 
purpose of reduction, the cook resorts to the most brisk 
and violent ebullition within his means. 2. Violent boiling 
has also its use as a preliminary step in the cooking of 
meat and of most vegetables. Let us say that a leg of 
mutton is to be boiled : it will not really be boiled except 



Boiling 7 7 

for the first few minutes. All depends on the question 
whether a piece of meat is going to be eaten or not. If 
it is not to be eaten, and we only want to get all the good- 
ness out of it in the form of a broth or stock, the meat is 
put into cold water which is gradually heated, and then 
only seethed or simmered or slow-boiled considerably below 
the degree of 212. If the meat is to be eaten, however, 
it is a great and most important object to keep the juices 
within it. The leg of mutton is therefore at once plunged 
into the hottest boiling water, which coagulates the albumen 
on the surface, and produces a thin but perfect coat of mail 
all round the meat, through which the juices cannot escape, 
live minutes of quick boiling at the outset, or even less, 
having produced this coat of mail, there is no further need 
of so great a heat The quick boiling is, by the addition 
of cold water, brought down to slow boiling or simmering; 
aiid though we still speak of the leg of mutton as boiled? 
it is really not boiled at all, but only simmered, save in 
the first five minutes. 

It will thus be seen that boiling, as distinct from slow- 
boiling, simmering or seething, is an operation of very 
limited scope in cookery. It may be described as the 
middle, not to say neutral point of culinary heat It is 
notorious that the kitchen produces two kinds of cookery 
— ^the brown and the white, or, as the French sometimes 
express it, the brunette beauty and the blonde. The one 
comes of intense heat, far above the boiling point, pro- 
ducing the roast savours and the brown appearance ; the 
other comes of gentle heat, a little below the boiling point, 
producing mild decoctions, pale of tint and with natural 
flavours. But genuine boiling at a temperature of 212^ 
yields no such characteristic results. It is a temporary 
process, of short duration and of limited use, being chiefly 
available, as above mentioned, for two things — to coagulate 
and harden the surfaces of food, and to reduce liquids by 
evaporation. 



78 



Boiling 



When meat begins to boil a scum rises to the surface 
of the water and continues to do so for some little time. 
This must be carefully reDaM>yed as fast as it rises, for 
it soon sinks again, rendering it difficult afiberwards to 
clarify the liquor. SSalt helps the scum to rise. 

TlM£*TABLE FOR BoiLING. 

It must be clearly understood that in the following table 
boiling means, for the most part, under-boiling or simmer- 
ing. In some cases also, chiefly in vegetables, now and 
then also in fish, any time-table is insufficient, aod it is 
possible to ascertain whether the cooking is enough onlj 
by probing. The following figures therefore are to be 
taken with a certain latitude : — 



Hours. 

Round of beef, 20 lbs 5 

Edgebone, 14 lbs 3 

Brisket, 10 lbs 3 

Ham, 121b8 4 

Leg of pork, 8 lbs 3 

Hand, 6 lbs 2.J 

Bacon, 2 lbs 14 

Pig's cheek 2i 

Pig's feet .3 

Ox tongues, fresh 2 

Leg of mutton, 9 lbs. ... 2 to 3 

Neck, 7 lbs 2 

Breast of veal, 7 lbs 24 

Neok of veal, 6 lbs 2 

Knuckle, 7 lbs 2i 

Calf's head 3 

Calves' feet 3 

Tripe 8 

Turkey, small \\ 

Ditto, large 2 

Fowl, large 1 to 14 

Chicken 4 to 4 

Partridge 4 

Pigeon \ 

Rabbits I 



Minutes. 

Greens, quick boiling 25 

Cabbage „ 25 

Asparagus 25 

Artichokes 35 

Green peas 15 to 20 

Carrots 15 to 50 

Turnips 16 to 50 

f^nch beans 30 

Brocoli 15 to 20 

Cauliflower 15 to 20 

Brussels sprouts 10 to 15 

Beetroot 150 

Parsnips 35 

Spinach 12 

Girasole artichokes 30 

Onions, whole 60 

Turbot, 151bs 30 

Cod's head and shouldei-s... 60 

Salmon 60 

Slices of cod or salmon 15 

Soles 6 to 12 

Skate 12 to 20 

Herrings 10 

Mackerel 16 to 20 

Lobsters or Crabs ... 20 to 30 



Borage 79 

BoLOGKA has given birth to eight Popes, to FraBcia, 
Doroenichino, the Caracci, Guido, Albani, and to the most 
magnificent and renowned of all tiie sansages. Who «hall 
say that, among these mighty ones, the sausage is the 
least? 

Bonne Fshhe. — The name given to a remarkable sonp 
in -which an attempt has been made to paint the character 
of a good woman. Why not? Beethoven in his Pas- 
toral Symphony has by music alone set before ns a land- 
scape ; and why should not a cook be able in a soup to 
symbolise womanhood ? The two most important symbols 
which he selects are the acidity of sorrel and the softness 
of cream. There is a gracious sauvity in the sonp, with 
a subacid flavour to remind one pleasantly of the little 
gleams of temper without which this exquisite creation 
could not be a woman. There is an addition of fowl or 
chicken broth in memory of Dame Partlet and her sisters, 
who love, honour, and obey the miltan of the hen-roost. 
And there is a good allowance of butter, to symbolize the 
adulation of courtship and the praises which the poet says 
are the wages of the ses. 

Take a pound of sorrel and cut it first into narrow 
ribbons; then slantwise into diamonds Put it into a 
stewpan and stir it on the fir«, with ^Ib. of butter, 
with salt, and it may be with one ounce of flour. Then 
add five or six pints of fowl or chicken broth, and 
let it simmer gently for half an hour. Take it ofi^ the fire, 
and add a leason of six yolks of eggs and a tumblerful 
of £:ood cream. Finish it with a bit of butter and serve it 
with crusts. 

Bonne Femme Maigre, — Omit the flour, put water for 
broth, and use cream of rice instead of cream. 

Borage. — There is an old rhyme. Ego borago gaudia 
semper agoy which has been freely translated — " 1 borage 
bring courage." It had a wonderful repute for cheering 



8o Bordeaux 

the heart of man, and was accordingly ranked among ihe 
foar cordial flowers — ^that is, flowers which acted npon the 
heart and made it merrj. The four flowers were alkanet^ 
borage, roses and violets. This is what Lord Bacon sajs 
of it : ^' The leaf of the borage hath an excellent spirit to 
repress the fuliginous yapours of dusky melancholy and 
so to cure madness. • ... It will make a soyereign drink 
for melancholy passions." The juice of the leaves abounds 
in nitre, and the withered stalks have been seen to bum 
like matchpaper. The young leaves and tender teps used 
to be taken in salad. Now the plant is scarcely ever used 
except for flavouring claret-cup. It resembles, in this 
respect, bumet and cucumber. 

Bordeaux, Bordelese. — The famous capital of the Gascon 
country has given its name to a sauce, te a method of 
serving the entrecdte or ribsteak, and te the cooking of 
crayfish. 

Sauce Bordelmae. — Properly speaking, there is no such 
sauce, and very few of the books care te describe it. What 
is so called is a variety of the G^nevese Sauce, and got its 
name probably because of the Bordeaux wine in it. Take 
a good brown sauce, Spanish if possible, boil it down with 
a tumblerful of red Bordeaux, with one or two shalots 
chopped small, and by rights also with a clove of garlic 
crushed. 

Entreoote a la Bordelaise. — One would imagine that this 
must be a ribsteak with Bordelese sauce. It is nothing of 
the kind — for, as we have said, there is, strictly speaking, 
no such sauce. It is a ribsteak grilled in the ordinary way 
and served with (either upon it or under it) a piece of cold 
maitre d'h6tel butter, inte which has been wrought some 
chopped shalot. To those who love onion flavours the idea 
seems good, but many persons regret the order they have 
given for the Entrec6te k la Bordelaise, from not taking 
inte account that the shalot is raw. 



Bouchees 8 1 



CrayjUh a la Bordelaise are a passion with some people, 
especially in the season when game fails. They take the 
place of game towards the end of dinner. Chop a faggot 
of Mirepoix fine, pass it in bntter, and add a tumblerful 
of white wine to it. Boil it up, put the crayfish into it 
alive ; they are soon dead and red, although to be 
thoroughly cooked they must be tossed for at least twenty 
minutes. When done, pile them in a noble monument on 
the dish ; take the sauce, finish it with a little fresh butter, 
and pour it fondly on the monument you have raised. 

Given the crayfish, there comes a terrible question, — 
How are they to be got at ? how are they to be eaten ? 
Prigs and foolish virgins are aghast to find that knives and 
forks are of no use. Then comes a moment of great trial 
to weak nerves. What becomes of our boasted civilisation 
when it is known that the crayfish are to be boldly eaten 
with the fingers, and that when the dish is consumed 
finger-glasses go round ? 

BoTABGO — Roe of the Ghrey Mullet 

BoucH^s — Morsels. — These are small Yol-au-vents, and 
the way to make them is described under that heading. 
They are filled with a salpicon of chicken, game or fish, 
well moistened with a white sauce — Bechamel or AUe- 
mande. 

Bouchdes d la Reine. — Filled with a salpicon of chicken, 
— ^that is, a fine mince of chicken with tongue, mushrooms 
and truffles. The queen after whom they are named was 
Marie Lesczinska, the wife of Louis XY., who gave the 
French cooks their idea of the Baba or Polish cake and 
the Kromeski or Polish croquette. 

Benches of game in the same way. 

Bouch^s of lobsters or of shrimps are filled with either 
of these cut small, but not mixed with anything else save 
the white sauce. 

6 



82 Bouillabaisse 



Bouillabaisse is a fish soup for which the Provencal 
fishing towns are famous— chiefly MarseiUes. Garlic is 
essential to it, as to nearly all the Proven^ cookery ; but 
those who eschew garlic may still obtain from it a good 
idea of how to concoct a savoury fish soup. Thackeray's 
Ballad of Bouillabaisse has given it a great name in 
England, but most Englishmen find it disappointing. It 
is a soup to be mightily loved or to be abhorred. 

This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is — 

A sort of soup or bpoth or brew 
Or hotch-potch of all sorts of fishes 

That Greenwich never could outdo : 
Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffem. 

Soles, onions, garlic, roach and dace ; 
Ail these you eat at Terra's tavern 

In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. 

Choose a variety of fish-^soles, red mullets, dorys, 
whitings, flounders, perch — ^avoiding the oily sorts, as 
the herring and the eel. The mussels mentioned by 
Thackeray are a pleasant addition. Beckon from half 
to three quarters of a pound for each person to be served. 
For every pound of fish put a pint of water into a stew- 
pan, a quarter of a pint of white wine, and a tablespoonfal 
of oil. Then supposing there are four or five persons to 
be provided for — add two sliced onions, two cloves, two 
bayleaves, two leeks — the white only, but chopped, four 
cloves of garUc, a tablespoonful of chopped parsley, a little 
orange or lemon zest, half an ounce of chopped capsicums, 
a teaspoonful of safiron (but many tastes crave a whole 
tablespoonful), pepper and salt Into this mix the fish, 
which have been weU trimmed as well as cut into pieces, 
and boil them for half an hour. The MarseiUese declare 
for rapid boiling on a brisk fire — pointing out that the 
name Bouillabaisse means Bouillon-abaiss^ — ^that is, broth 
rapidly reduced by evaporation. This rule, however, vi 
not always followed. When the soup is to be served, drain 



Brains 83 

the fish and put them on a dish apart, making, spite of 
Thackeray, a pretty good clearance of herbs and spices. 
Strain the soup by itself into a tureen, with it may be 
sippets of toast in it. It is more common, but not so 
good, to serve soup and fish together.. 

Bouillon. — Why should we be expected to say Bouillon 
when we have the good English word broth ? — for every- 
thing pertaining to which see Soup. 

Bourgeois, a la Bourgeoise. — It has always been 
difficult to translate these phrases into English, and the 
attempt to do so now would be absurd. They belonged 
to an order of things when there was a more marked 
gastronomical distinction between the nobleman and the 
townsman than we can now find. The nobleman had 
a fine way of cooking, the burgess had a less refined 
way. It is better in the present day to contrast the 
set dinner or the dinner of state with the family dinner. 
We make greater preparation for invited guests than for 
every-day home use. Throughout these pages, therefore, 
what the French call a Bourgeois dish — or one prepared 
k la Bourgeoise — ^will be described as a family dish or one 
prepared in a familiar way. 

Bouquet. — The technical name for this in English is a 
Faggot of parsley — a little bunch of parsley and spring 
onions. See Faggot 

Bouquet gamL — ^A faggot of herbs — ^that is, a faggot of 
parsley wtih the addition of thyme and bayleaf . 

Brains. — Hath a calf, which is the emblem of stupidity, 
brains ? It is one of the glories of cookery that it recog- 
nises good in everything — good even in a calf s organ of 
intelligence. It is only the cerebral matter of calves that 
is deemed worthy of being shaped into lordly dishes. They 
are first picked clean, then cooled for at least an hour. 



84 Brandade 



They are then either to be boiled or fried. If boiled (this 
is the favourite way), they are to be simmered for thirty 
minutes in water with salt and vinegar, then drained, and 
they are to be served with Maitre d'Hotel sauce, with 
black butter, or with Montpellier butter. If fried, they are 
to be first parboiled for ten minutes in water, salt and 
vinegar, and they are to be served with Bavigote batter. 

Brakdade. — The first receipt for a brandade which 
appeared in print was written by Grimod de la Keyniire, 
and is as follows : — " Among the provincial ragouts in 
most distinguished favour in Paris are the brandades of 
salt fish. A restaurateur of the Palais Boyal is well 
known to have made his fortune by his method of preparing 
them. We give the receipt as it was communicated to us 
in a village of Languedoc which enjoys a reputation for 
this very article at once brilliant and merited. The 
singular name of brandade, though not found in any 
dictionary, is derived doubtless from the old French verb 
I/randir, which means to shake ; and this action, almost 
continual, is in fact indispensable to render the ragout 
what it ought to be. Soak for twenty-four hours a fine 
piece of salt fish. Put it on the fire in sufficient water, 
carefiiUy taking it oflF when it begins to boiL Put butter, 
oil, parsley and garlic into a stewpan upon a gentle fire. 
In the meantime skin the fish and divide it into small bits. 
Put the pieces into the stewpan, and add from time to time 
more oil, butter or milk, as the whole is perceived to 
thicken. Shake the stewpan for a long time over the fire, 
so as to reduce the salt fish to a kind of cream. The 
receipt is very simple, but we do not cease to repeat that 
the success of the brandade depends on shaking the 
stewpan for a very long time. This alone can efiect the 
extreme division or disunion of all the parts of the naturally 
tough fish and metamorphose it into a sort of cream.'* 

It may be a dreadful heresy, but it is difficult not to add 



Braze 85 

that there is an effective instrament called a spoon which 
is not once mentioned in the foregoing sentences, and 
which if properly stirred would save a good deal of 
shaking. Let it he fiirthermore added, that though 
Grimod dwells in his usual emphatic way on the creamy 
nature of a brandade, it is by no means to be classed widi 
spoon meat — it is a very thick cream to be heaped on the 
dish with fried crusts round it. 

Brawn. — One word about brawn, not for itself so 
much as for its connection with galantine. It is, in fact, 
a galantine of pig's head. In the oldest English receipts 
we are told how to make a galantine with the brawn or 
flesh of fowls, as well as with that of swine ; but in the 
course of ages it has come about that the galantine of pig 
is especially called brawn, and it is scarcely ever made in 
private houses. We buy it as we buy sausages, in the 
shops. It would save a great deal of trouble if galantine 
were treated in the same way. The wholesale dealers can 
make it better and cheaper than any private family. 

Bravm Sauce, — Brawn has a sauce all to itself. Add 
mustard and sugar to oil and vinegar in proportions which 
must be left to individual taste. Some insist that the sugar 
must be brown. This is not necessary ; but if white sugar 
be chosen, then the juice of a sweet orange, together with 
a few gratings of the zest, may be worked in with great 
effect. Say two tablespoonfuls of oil, one of vinegar, two 
mustardspoonfuls of mustard, a dessertspoonful of sifted 
sugar, the juice of one and the rind of half a sweet 
orange. 

Braze — ^to braze. — Brazing is a combination of stewiug 
and baking. The meat, which is nearly always boned, is 
put into a copper stewpan with broth and vegetables, and 
set upon embers or upon the comer of the stove, to simmer 
very gently. Thus far it is the easiest-going stew that can 



86 Braze 

be imagined. It is at the same time on its upper surface 
subjected to another process of heat. The lid is tightly 
closed upon it, sometimes with clay or dough, and is in a 
form to hold burning embers which ought to generate upon 
the surface of the stew a heat that if applied below and in 
contact with the metal bottom might bum it. Below, there 
is a slow stew going on ; above, the meat is in a sort of 
miniature oven, baking and browning. It is a favourite 
mode of cooking with the French, and is supposed to create 
unusual flavour — combining the advantages of roasting and 
boiling. Whether it does so is another question. Brazed 
meat is no doubt an improvement upon boiled; but it 
never reaches the flavour of roast. This, however, is a 
matter of opinion ; and French cooks often put paper over 
delicate meat which is to be brazed — say a fowl or turkey 
— to make sure that the heat of the brazier above will not 
give it too much of a taste. 

Braze is a common name for the ingredients which are 
put into the brazing-pan to stew with the meat and to give 
it a flavour. Obviously in this sense the braze may be as 
variable as the viands which are to be stewed and as the 
tastes which have to be consulted. The Mirepoix, men- 
tioned later, will be found a very good braze indeed, and 
it does not difier much from what is commonly called a 
braze — that is, a few slices of bacon, some carrots, four or 
five onions, one of which is made a pincushion for cloves, 
two bayleaves, a little thyme, and a bunch of parsley. 
Indeed, the multiplication of names is one of the greatest 
follies of the kitchen ; and mention is made here of braze 
not with approval, but only to prevent disappointment. 
To judge by the current receipts, it would be extremely 
difficult to make out a clear difference between Braze, 
Blanc, Poele, and Mirepoix. Each and all are a confusion 
of well-favoured vegetables and herbs, one heaped upon 
another, with little regard to quantity and none to com- 
bination. See more upon this point under Faggot. 



Bread 87 

Bread. — When Dr. Lister, the physician of Queen 
Anne, went to Paris in the beginning of last century, 
he declared that the French bread made in London was 
better than that made in Paris. It is the same now. 
English bread itself is not good. Even baker's bread is 
poor stuflF ; and home-made bread realizes pretty well the 
image of a son asking his father for bread and receiving a 
stone. Nevertheless, observe two things : the best bread 
for cooking purposes is known in the French kitchen as 
pain AnfflaU — it is the EngUsh pan loaf; and the best 
bread in the world is made in London — but it is made by 
French bakers from Hungarian flour. The chemists tell 
us that this bread is not so nourishing as the coarser kinds; 
but what is the worth of their analysis we have already seen 
at page 1 5. We may take the navvy as a good practical 
judge. He knows what suits him best, and he will always 
be found eating the finest bread he can get 

The English bread, as a rule, is so bad that at our dinner- 
tables it has been displaced by the potato. The English- 
man wants a potato with every dish that comes before him 
— ^he cannot do without it, no matter what other vegetables 
are provided. The Frenchman, on the other hand, eats 
bread throughout dinner ; and many have been heard to 
complain that at an English dinner they are quite ashamed 
of the number of times they have to ask for bread — they 
can never get enough. The bread or potato thus eaten 
throughout a meal serves two ends : it supplies the farina- 
ceous element of food, and it acts upon tibe palate as a 
sponge to prepare it for a new experience. Which for the 
latter purpose is the more serviceable — ^the French or the 
English style — the bread or the potato ? Suppose one were 
tasting wines : will the English wine-taster ever come to ^ 
eating potatoes between his sips of the different vintages ? 
He eats bread, which is the best thing possible for the 
renovation of his taste. Here is a marked point in which 
the French are ahead of the English in understanding the 



*88 Bread 

laws of gustation. They leave the potato to Englishmen ; 
they choose bread for themselres, and thej take care to 
have their bread of the best. 



Bread and Butter with Fruit — a favourite sweet entremet 
described nnder the name of Charlotte. 

Breadcrumbs^ JRaspinffs, Crusts — ^much used in cookery, 
but scarcely needing explanation. The bread for crumbs 
should be stale and well sifted. A more common kind is 
made by baking any pieces of bread until hard, braying 
them in a mortar, and passing them through a sieve. 

Bread Pudding. — ^When one is in the humour to eat bread- 
pudding one wants it very simple— therefore the simplest 
receipt is the best, and the less we say of currants and 
candied citron the better. The rule is to pour upon fine 
breadcrumbs about three times the quantity of liquid — ^in 
file form of rich milk and butter. Say there are six ounces 
of bread, — on this put two ounces of fresh butter, and then 
pour boiling hot a pint (sixteen ounces) of the creamiest 
milk to be obtained. Cover this over, and let it stand 
until the bread is well soaked — which will take about half 
an hour. Then mix in three ounces of sugar, the yolks of 
five eggs, the whites of three, and a little nutmeg. Pour 
it into a dish, and bake it for half an hour. 

Bread Sauce. — This is a serious matter, and is rarely 
turned out well. Many cooks think it enough to serve up 
mere milk-sop, and there are very few of the receipts which 
allow for it more than ten minutes' preparation. The sauce 
is very simple, but it is worth some care. The following 
receipt is borrowed from Miss Acton : ^' Put into a sauce- 
, pan nearly half a pint of fine breadcrumbs, the white part 
of a large but mild onion cut into quarters, three-quarters 
of a pint of new milk ; and boil them very gently, keeping 
them often stirred until the onion is perfectly tender, which 
will be in from forty minutes to an hour. Press the whole 



Brill 89 

through a hair sieye ; reduce the sauce by quick boiling 
should it be too thin ; add salt; nutmeg, an qunce of butter, 
and four spoonfuls of cream : and when it is of proper 
tliickness, dish and send it quickly to table." Let it be 
added, however, that if the onion is chopped instead of being 
cut into quarters, the sauce will take much less time. 

Breton. — The Celts of Brittany have immortalised them- 
selves and their mutton by means of a few onions and 
haricot beans. In the first place they have invented the 
Breton sauce. It is the counterpart of Soubise, only that 
the one is brown, the other white. When these noble 
Bretons eat roast mutton they make a quantity of their 
lovely brown sauce, they boil about an equal quantity of 
white haricot beans, they mix the two together for a 
garnish, and there is the Gigot jt la Bretonno. To be 
exact, let us say that there are two pints of garnish : — one 
pint should be the brown pur^ of onions, the other pint 
white haricots nestling in the brown. 

Breton Sauce is to Soubise what brown is to white. Peel, 
trim, and mince a good quantity of onions — no stint. 
Pass them in butter with a little salt, perhaps also some 
sugar, till they are of a rich red colour, and then set 
them to stew in their own juice with a faggot of sweet 
herbs. When they are done, take out the faggot and add a 
brown sauce to them — ^the best is not too good. The books 
direct that after this the onions and the sauce together 
should be reduced to a glaze, which is quite unnecessary. 
The object is to develop the roast flavour of the onions, 
which is developed enough if they have been fried enough 
at first. Pass all through a tammy, and finish it with a 
piece of butter and a squeeze of lemon. 

Brill. — Of all good fish, brill is the most odious, because 
it is used, either ignorantly or maliciously, to do duty for 
turboi No doubt this is proof of its goodness ; it would 



90 Brillat'Savarin 



be impossible to pass off a bad fish for turbot Bat a brill 
in reiditj is to turbot as lead is to silver, and as cider to 
champagne. It may seem incredible, bat it is a fact that 
there are heathens who do not know what a tarbot is, who 
despise its fin and its skin, who think the thick fleshy part 
of it the best, and who naturally, therefore, can see no great 
difference between brill and turboL A brill is to them as 
good as a turbot, for it only wants what in their view is 
well wanting — the gelatinous fins and the skin. The fish- 
monger finds it easy to impose upon these innocents ; 
and they in turn do not see the enormity of imposing 
brill upon guests who are entitled to turbot. The fish 
too readily lends itself to this frightful system of impos- 
ture, and has caused such cruel disappointments to those 
who hold the turbot in regard that it is naturally in bad 
odour. 

There is not a word, however, to be said against brill in 
its own place — a very fair middle-class fish. Like a large 
sole, it may be fried whole or in fillets. It may be served 
au ffratiriy in a matelote of the ordinary kind, or a Nor- 
mandy matelote. Also it may be boiled in slices, in fillets 
or whole, and served with Holland sauce, caper sauce, 
nut-brown butter, or indeed with any of the butter sauces. 

Brillat-Savarin. — A French magistrate, born at 
Belley in 1775, dying at St. Denis in 1826. He is the 
most delightful and seductive of all the writers on gastro- 
nomy, though he might never have written if Grimod 
de la Beynifere had not led the way. His work entitled 
Phynologie du GoiU is a masterpiece. It was published 
anonymously the year before his death, so that he had 
not the happiness of reaping his reward and seeing his 
renown. He gave to the pleasures of the table a poetry 
little thought of before, and though his works are in 
prose he is to be ranked as one of the most original of 
poets. He has himself reported what one of his friends 



Brown Betty 91 



said to him, — " You have bat one fault : you eat too 
quickly." That, however, is a great fault in a gourmet, 
and it is a fault which is much too common in England. 
Kapoleon lost the two great battles of Borodino and Leipsic 
through indigestion brought on by his habit of eating too 
fast Let the frivolous pause and tiiink of this — ^the chance 
of losing an empire through unseemly disregard of the 
dinneivtable. 

Brioche. — ^Nobody knows the origin of this name. It 
is made of paste No. 9 in any shape which may be chosen, 
and baked in the oven for half an hour. It forms a most 
estimable cake, but is still more delicious as fritters. See 
Fritters, No. 6 ; also Dauphiness. 

Brocoli. — The same directions as for cauliflower. 

Broil. — See Grill. Whichever the word, to both the 
rule of Macbeth applies : 

If it were done, when 'tia done, then 'twere well 
It were done quickly. 

Broth. — The French appear to make some distinction 
between a soup and a potage, but I have never been able 
to define it. In England it is assumed that there must be 
some distinction between soup and broth, but again I have 
never been able to make out what is meant. This is the 
worst of culinary terms. They might be used with pre- 
cision ; but for one cook who treats his business as a 
science, there are a myriad who know nothing and turn 
everything into confusion. Although the usage in England 
is not certain, the tendency Is to restrict the name of broth 
to the juice of meats more or less highly wrought before 
they take special form as soup. Broth, in short, is to soup 
what cloth is to dress. 

Brown Bbtty is the English cousin of the Continental 
Charlotte. Like Charlotte, she has a taste for bread and 



q2 Browning 

batter — and bakes it with fruity diieflj apples. How 
Charlotte makes the oombination maj be seen nnder her 
name. The English receipt for Brown Betty is as follows : — 
Pare and slice a number of apples, and prepare a quantity 
of breaderumbs. Put a layer of breadcrumbs in a pie-dish ; 
then a layer of apples ; then over the apples brown sugar 
and pieces of butter. Put on more layers of crumbs, 
apples, sugar and butter, until the dish is full. Pour over 
all a small teacupiul of water, and then cover the whole 
with thin slices of bread and butter, forming a good soUd 
roof for the pie. Bake it slowly, sprinkle it with sugar^ 
and serve it either with or without cream. The apples will 
not be the worse for having a clove or two among them. 

Brown Betty admits of many variations. One is known 
in this country as Swiss pudding — ^pounded rusks, soaked 
in milk, being used for the breadcrumbs. Cover it with 
pounded rusks, and pour melted butter over it. 

Browkino. — On all occasions the best is caramel — ^it is 
the least apt to create an unlooked-for flavour. Roux and 
burnt onions are often enough in use, however. These 
brownings are admirable in soup as Bobert Browning 
in poesy — but they are apt to be harsh. 

BrUNOISE, CmFFONNADE, CROtTTB AU POT, jARDINliiRE, 

Julienne, Paysanne, Spring Soup. — The basis of all these 
soups is a brown clear broth or double broth. Vegetables 
are added according to the season, and they are usually cut 
into small fancy shapes. They may be carrots, turnips? 
leeks, onions, celery, peas, kidney beans, lettuce, cabbage, 
Brussels sprouts, cauliflowers, asparagus, tarragon, chervil, 
parsley, sorrel, and woodsorrel. Do not overload the sonp, 
but make a good selection ; and when carrots, turnips, 
celery, leeks, or onions are used, prepare them first by 
frying them in a stewpan with two ounces of butter, a 
sprinkling of salt, and a teaspoonful of pounded sugar. 
The other vegetables may be simply blanched. Crusts of 



Bumper 93 

bread may be added, large or small, according to taste. 
TVhen this soup has an ttbnndance of yegetables and crusts 
in it — ^thus becoming almost a garbure — it is sometimes 
convenient to serve it in two separate tureens, one contain- 
ing nothing but the clear broth, the other the vegetables 
and crusts, with just enough broth to float them. It is 
easier in this way to apportion the soup and the vegetables 
on each successive soup-plate. 

For more about this soup and its varieties, the reader 
may turn to the Introductory Chapter and to the article on 
Julienne. As for the name Brunoise, although extremely 
common, it has not been adopted by any of the classical 
French dictionaries. Some of the cookery books call the 
soup Potage ^ la Brunoy. 

Brussels Spbouts. — To be boiled like cabbages in 
abundance of water and a little salt for fifteen minutes, to 
be drained and dried, to be tossed in butter, with pepper 
and nutmeg. For garnish a little butter will do. For an 
entremet use more butter, and it may be also a veal gravy 
or white cullis. There is a superfluity which was once in 
favour — ^buttered toast beneath the sprouts when served as 
an entremet, or else sippets of toast around them. 

Bubble and Squeak. — Chop some boiled white cabbage, 
season it with pepper and salt, and toss it in butter. Pepper 
and broil some slices of cold salted beef — ^if underdone, 
BO much the better. Put the cabbage into a dish, lay 
round it the slices of beef, garnish it if you will with slices 
of carrot, and serve it very hot 

Bumper. — There is a fine distinction between a bumper 
and a brimmer which ought not to drop out of sight A 
brimmer is a glass so full of wine that it touches the brim. 
But this may happen by force of attraction — the wine climb- 
ing up to the brim, and leaving a slight hollow in the central 
surfikce. Add a few more drops of wiuQ^ and this central 



94 Burnet 

depression will not only be filled up, but a bump of wine 
will rise like a hill in the centre of the glass, which maj 
then be described as a hamper. The diflferenoe between a 
brimmer and a bumper may be tested with a small piece of 
cork. In a brimmer it will float to the edge of the glass ; 
in a bumper it will remain in the centre. 

Burnet, called also Salad Burnet and Garden Burnet, 
to distinguish it from the Great Burnet^ and by the French 
called pimpernel, — a plant quite distinct from the English 
pimpernel, which is poison, — ^had a great reputation in the 
olden time. It was used chiefly, as borage now, to improve 
the taste of claret cup. It was also used as now in salads, 
to give them a finer relisL It was supposed to quicken 
the spirits, to lighten the heart and to make it merry. Its 
modern use is confined to salads and sauces. It is one of 
the four herbs — tarragon, bumet, chives, and chervil — 
which form what the French call ravigote or " pick me up." 
It is blanched and chopped with these herbs to be strewn 
on the salad ; to be mingled with butter so as to form ravi- 
gote butter ; or to be added to a mayonnaise to make green 
mayonnaise. There is one great advantage in burnet — it 
continues green through the winter, when most of the 
other salad plants are useless. 

Butter. — On the whole it must be admitted that the 
English do not with all their rich pastures make good butter. 
All the best butter with the rich creamy taste supplied to 
the dubs of London comes from Ostend, from Normandy, 
or from Brittany. No such butter is to be got in the 
British Isles save in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, where 
somehow they have learned the art of producing butter 
which vies with that of Ostend and Normandy. Cambridge 
butter, too, has this fine creamy flavour ; but it is notorious 
that what has been called Cambridge butter is a mixture 
of foreign butters. The French export, chiefly to England 



Butter 95 

and Brazil, about 50,000 tons of butter a year, the produce 
of nearly 500,000 cows. 

Most Englishmen would be appalled if they entered 
a French kitchen and saw the quantity of butter which 
the cook uses. We digest a French dinner with ease; 
but let people see the butter absorbed in it — all their pre- 
judices rise, and they have a fit of dyspepsia. Butter and 
oil are the most delicate forms of fat, and the Englishman 
who fancies they are ruinous to his digestion will notwith- 
standing partake abundantly of the coarser fats. Beef fkt 
and mutton fat he will eat to any extent ; greasy pork 
with nice crackling is a great joy to him ; and as for the 
streaky fat of bacon, he* thinks it peculiarly wholesome. 
The French and the English consume about the- same 
quantities of fatty matter : the chief difference between 
them is that the French prefer the more delicate fats and 
the English are content with the coarser. 

Nominally and theoretically, the grand sauces of 
French cookery are made from reduced essences of meat. 
But really and truly the most popular, the most useful, 
and the most admired of all the sauces are the butter 
sauces — chief among which are the Dutch sauce and the 
English sauce commonly called melted butter. (See 
Dutch and English.) The butter sauces are the most 
simple of all, and require little or no preparation ; yet they 
are very palatable, and many persons enjoy them more 
than the finest gravies and the most elaborate creams. 
They generally figure in the books under the name of 
Small Sauces ; but they are the grand unfailing resources 
of cottage kitchens and impromptu cookery. They are of 
infinite variety, and when once the simple principles on 
which they are formed have been mastered, the cook, like a 
pianist who presents a well-known air with many varia- 
tions, may show his or her ingenuity in ringing the 
changes upon them. 

There are various preparations of butter used for sauce, — 



96 Butter 

as Maitre d'Hdtel butter^ Bavigote batter, Anchovy batter, 
Montpellier butter, which will be found described nnder 
their proper names. Here it must be enough to enume- 
rate the three simplest preparations of butter for sauce. 

1. OiUd Butter. — Anybody can make this ; and if other 
sauces &il, it can be got ready in a minute. It is plain 
fresh butter melted, but not allowed to brown. There is 
sometimes a milky sediment in the butter which has to be 
got rid of in the strainer. Add salt in serving the oiled 
butter. 

2. Nvd^own BiUter, the French Beurre k la Noisette. — 
This is fresh butter melted in a small saucepan and allowed 
not to brown, btit to begin to brown. A delicious and 
very delicate flavour is developed if the butter is whipt off 
the fire the moment it begins to roast. The moment the 
light hazel tinge shows itself, the operation is complete, 
and you have, especially for fish, one of the most perfect 
of sauces, to which in serving may be added a squeeze 
of lemon-juice and a dash of salt 

3. Black Butter — ^the French Beurre noir, much used 
for skate, for calf's brains, and the like. This is a sharp 
sauce. Proceed as for nut-brown butter, but let the 
browning go further till the butter becomes dark-brown, 
though without being burnt. Take the butter from the 
fire, and next proceed to reduce some vinegar rapidly to 
about two-thirds of its volume. Mix the butter and the 
vinegar together, add a Uttle salt and pepper, and pass all 
through the pointed strainer. It is not necessary to use the 
best butter for this sauce. Its pecuUar flavour would be 
destroyed in the cooking. 



Cabbage 97 




[ABBAGE 13 the general name for a vegetable 
that presents itself in several varieties, which, 
putting the coleworts or wild sort out of 
account, may be ranged in three classes. 
1. That with loose, open leaves — known as greens, kale, 
and borecole. 2. That which is closed up — the white, 
sometimes called the Milan cabbage, the red cabbage, the 
Savoy (distinguished from the other closed ones by its 
wrinkled leaves), and Brussels sprouts, which are generally 
ranked as a variety of the Savoy. 3. The flowering sort — 
namely, cauliflower and brocoli, white and purple. 

In a loose way, the name of cabbage is given to all of 
these, except to Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and brocoli; 
which shall therefore be noticed under their own special 
names. The other varieties of cabbage do not call for 
much remark. Though used in soups and for garnish, 
they are hardly ever served as entremets, unless we make 
an exception in favour of sauerkraut, which however nearly 
always implies the accompaniment of sausages or bacon. 
Another apparent exception is the Chartreuse. This looks 
like a dish of cabbage to be eaten by itself and for itself. 
But the sly monks of the Grande Chartreuse taught our 
cooks to hide dainty morsels of partridge ^>dthin the cabbage 
leaves. 

Cabbage for Garnish, — The English way is simple enough, 
and applies equally to Brussels sprouts, turnip-tops, endive, 
and lettuce. After being carefully trimmed and washed, 
the cabbage — ^halved and quartered — is thrown into boiling 
water, which has not only salt in it but often a little car- 
bonate of soda to keep it green. A large quantity of water 
is used, especially in the case of turnip -tops, which are to 
be treated as a kind of greens or open cabbage ; or else 
several waters are used to carry off bitterness of taste and 
rankness of odour. The cabbage is boiled for thirty-five or 

7 



98 Cabbage 



forty minutes, and being drained, it is supposed to have 
finished its education and to be fit for table. In this state, 
however, it is dry and insipid. Be it cabbage, greens, 
Brussels sprouts, turnip-tops, endive, or lettuce, it should 
be tossed with butter, pepper, and perhaps nutmeg, before 
ascending to the dignity of the table. 

The French way of dressing cabbage is indicated in the 
English practice of boiling greens to take with boiled beef. 
These are not boiled with the beef, lest they should impart 
too much of their flavour to it ; but they are boiled with 
some of the liquor of the beef and with its top fat. The 
French take cabbages — white ones by preference — cut them 
into quarters, wash them well, cast them with salt into 
boiling water, boil them for ten minutes, steep them for 
half an hour in cold water, press them and dry them well, 
tie them up, put them into a stewpan with a piece of bacon 
previously blanched, a faggot of sweet herbs, an onion stuck 
with two cloves, and pepper, cover them with broth, and so 
et them cook, till they are tender and thoroughly impreg- 
nated with the surrounding juices. 

Calhage Soup is much the same as the foregoing ; but 
put into the stewpan, say for each cabbage half a pound 
of bacon, and half a pound of gravy beef, with half a gallon 
of water, or even three-quarters ; bring it to the boiling 
point, skim it, and then simmer it for three hours. Finally, 
cut up the cabbage and serve it in its broth, keeping back 
the beef, the bacon, and the faggot. 

Calf's Feet are for the most part boiled in salt and 
water alone, for the purpose of making sweet Jelly (which 
see) ; or with ia faggot of pot-herbs for the purpose of 
making Aspic (which also see). In either case, after hours 
of boiling, the feet, which have parted with much of their 
gelatine, still remain good enough to make a very nice 
little dish. The best way is to heat them up in a Poulette 
Relish. 



Calipash 99 

Calf's Head. Flain boiled, — The English way. Take 
a whole or half a head. Scald it well, and let it soak for 
an hour or two in cold water. Then simmer it for an hour 
and a half in water enough to make it swim^ and with a 
faggot of pot-herbs. Serve it with maitre d'hdtel sauce 
(parsley and butter) poured over it ; and let it be garnished 
with bacon or pig's cheek, with the tongue nicely trimmed, 
and with the brains which have been cooked apart. 

The French way. The head or half-head is first boned, 
then blanched as above, then cut in pieces, keeping the ear 
apart with a good base to it, then simmered for an hour 
and a half with the faggot of pot-herbs. The pieces of calTs 
head are next drained, the tongue is trimmed, and all are 
served in naked simplicity on an oval dish ; the ear-pieces, 
which are considered the tit-bits, being made conspicuous 
in the arrangement. It is eaten either hot or cold with a 
cruet sauce. As many people like to make this sauce in 
proportions selected by themselves, it is usual to serve 
with it, on a plate and in separate heaps, capers, chives 
and parsley — ^e last two chopped. 

Calf ^8 Head en Tortue, — Prepared as above in the French 
way, but heated up and served in a Turtle Relish. 

Calf 8 Head d la Financihe. — As before, but with the 
Financial Relish. 

Calf* 8 Head Soup (better known as Mock Turtle). — See 
Turtle. 

Calipash and Calipeb. — Calipash is a corruption of 
carapace, the upper shell of the turtle ; but it is used to 
signify only the green fat or gelatinous matter which 
adheres to the upper shell, while calipee is the name given 
to the yellow fat or gelatine which is attached to the under 
shell The Green Fat is never to be approached in a frivo- 
lous spirit — ^always with profound obeisance and thoughts 
that do lie too deep for words. '* Sir," said an alderman at 
ft city dinner to a loquacious companion, ^^ let us be silent 



lOO Cambridge 



for a moment In listening to your discourse, and trying 

to answer you, I have swallowed two pieces of Green Fai 
without doing them justice. Pray let me enjoy my present 
happiness, and when it is ended you shall discourse as 
much as you please.'* 

Cambridge. — The rivalry of the.' twin universities has 
extended to the table. Oxford has its sausage and its 
punch. Cambridge has its sausage and its punch too. 
But there is an originality in the Oxford preparations to 
which Cambridge can make no approach. The Oxford 
sausage is a crdpinette, can be made at home, and affords 
infinite scope for variety of flavour. The Cambridge 
sausage is always put into skins, and that is a business of 
itself which had better be left to the pork-butcher. There 
is therefore a uniformity about it which is a little too 
suggestive of mathematics. 

The Cambridge milk punch also is scarcely worthy of 
the great university. It is punch made without water, but 
with hot milk instead, and with the addition of one or two 
beaten eggs. 

Canterbury. — Celebrated for its archbishops and its 
brawn, Primates of England and prime of pig-cheek. 

Capers are the buds of a plant which were at one time 
a good deal cultivated in England — and which might well 
be wgron in chalk pits, on cliffs and on walls. We get 
our chief supplies from Italy, and our sauces are so much 
indebted to tliem that it is difficult to explain why the 
plant is now rarely to be seen in England. Perhaps if 
the history of the plant were known, a greater interest 
would be felt in it. Dr. Royle has proved that it is the 
hyssop of Scripture, ^' which springeth out of the wall." 
It has long trailing branches like the bramble, and it was 
on one of these that the sponge filled with vinegar was 
offered to our Saviour on the cross. " They filled a sponge 



Carbonade loi 



with vinegar, and put it upon hyssop." It was with a 
branch of the same that the Israelites sprinkled their 
doorposts with blood when they ate the passover. 

Caper Sauce. — English butter sauce with a tablespoon- 
ful of capers added, not forgetting a little of their vinegar. 
Let some of the capers be minced^ so as to flavour the 
sauce more effectually. 

Caramel is to soup and sauce what rice powder is to the 
face — it gives a complexion. It is difficult to find a sub- 
stance which will colour soup and yet not alter its flavour. 
Burnt onions are sometimes used, but they are as rouge to 
the countenance — not to be trusted. The most innocuous 
subi^nce is caramel, or burnt sugar, which is prepared as 
follows : Put a pound of sifted sugar into a brass skillet or 
preserving pan, and melt it on a slow fire, stirring it with 
a wooden spoon. After it has melted let it remain on the 
fire till it becomes the colour of mahogany, stirring it from 
time to time to make the tint uniform. This may be dark 
or light at pleasure ; but care must be taken to avoid a 
quick Are, which will bum the sugar and make it black. 
When the proper tint is gained add three tumblers of 
water. Then stir up the fire and reduce the caramel to a 
syrup. Pour it out, cool it, and bottle it for use. 

Carbonade. — If cookery is ever to be a science it must 
be exact in its nomenclature, and cooks must not be allowed 
to confuse common-sense with their ignorant use of terms. 
The carbonade has degenerated in France into> a stew, 
having meant originally a grill ; and attempts are made 
to introduce the word into England as corrupted by the 
French cooks. So long as Shakespeare and the Elizabethan 
dramatists are prized in England this new style will not 
be tolerated. The carbonade was " a rasher on the coals " ; 
and the rasher was first of all slashed or scored, to increase 
the broiling surface and to permit the penetration of pepper 
and salt. It was in fact a devil ^' He scotcht him and 



102 Carime 

notcht him like a carbonado/' we read in Shakespeare ; 
and in Beaumont and Fletcher — 

Has he bespoke 7 what, will he have a brace, 
Or but one partridge, or a short-legged hen 
Daintily carbonadoed ? 

What has this to do with stewing ? In England a car- 
bonado will always mean something which is first scored 
and then grilled. Only nowadays it is not usual^-except 
for devilling — to score meat which is to be grilled, since 
to do so would let out the juices too freely and dry it. 
For further remarks turn to the Shoulder of Mutton , 
which is the principal piece of meat submitted to the 
carbonado ; and to do justice to the French cooks, let 
us explain how it is that the carbonado of mutton has 
with them come to be a stew. It was because it was 
thought good to parboil the shoulder before sending it to 
the grill. 

The only carbonado of beef which is much in favour is 
better known as broiled or grilled bones. 

Carime is certainly the most celebrated cook of the 
present century. He had a great genius ; he had rare 
opportunities ; and he has done more than any other one 
man that can be named to determine the arrangements 
and the provisions of the dinner-table as yre have it now. 
Mr. Hayward has done honour to his genius in a passage 
remarkable for its epigrammatic point, which will be found 
quoted in our notice of Beauvilliers. But he was a fearful 
egotist and coxcomb, and his national vanity is pitiful ; so 
that it is sometimes a labour to go through his works. It 
is strange also to see that though he could be very simple 
when it pleased him, he had a perfect mania for elaboration 
and show ; and he paid such excessive attention to the 
architecture of the table and the outward adorning of his 
dishes, that he has left an example which has perhaps done 
more harm than good. To succeed as he succeeded, a cook 



Carps 103 

must not only be a 000k — ^he must be a draughtsman, a 
sculptor^ and a colourist ; and the time and taste which a 
cook spends on the arts of design, to prepare food for the 
eve, are so much time and taste diverted from the more 
important business of preparing food for the mouth. 

Carps are a great family, and include, besides the carp 
proper, tench, barbel, gudgeon, gold-fish, loach, bream, 
chub, roach, dace, minnow, and bleak. The carp has a 
remarkable tenacity of life. He not only lives to a great 
age — some say 200 years : he survives terrible afflictions. 
He has been found alive in the muddy bottoms of empty 
ponds ; he may be taken out of the M^ater, packed in moist 
moss, and with a mouthful of bread steeped in brandy, to 
be repeated from stage to stage, may be transported to 
almost any distance ; both himself and his wives have been 
cut open for their roes, they have been sewn up again and 
returned to the pond, where they have afterwards, like 
capons and oxen, fattened amazingly and improved in 
flavour. Nature has provided not only that the carp shal 
live long, but also that he shall increase and multiply 
prodigiously. He abounds in roe, and one of his wives 
alone will produce 700,000 young in a year. The soft roe 
of the carp is one of the most prized of fishy deUcacies, and 
is served by itself sometimes as an entree or as a soup. 
(See Roe.) His tongue or false tongue is likewise con- 
sidered a rare morsel, and for the sake of it some people 
will buy only carps' heads and make a dish of them. 

As for the body of the carp, it is not superb, and requires 
all the rhetoric of the saucepan. If people choose to boil, 
fry, or grill him, they must take the consequences, and do 
the best they can with caper sauce, Holland sauce, or black 
butter. He should be either stewed or brazed ; and how- 
ever he is cooked, it is important first of all to extract from 
his head the gallstone, which else would impart a bitter 
flavour to the flesh. 



I04 Carp 

For a stew, dress him either in a matelote or & la poulette. 
In this case he can be served either whole or in pieces, and 
in company with his friends — the eel, the tench, the perch, 
and the gudgeon. But the grand style of announcing the 
fish was invented at Chambord, and is known as 

Carp a la Chambord. — There is a great lake in this royal 
demesne where carp abound. The fish is best in running 
water ; in still water it partakes too much of mud, and 
needs an extraordinary effort on the part of the cook to 
prepare it for human association. At Chambord it was 
deemed necessary to make this effort, and the result was so 
successful that it has sometimes been applied to fish like 
the salmon, which it is quite impossible for art to improve 
upon. A great idea struck one of the cooks at Chambord 
— to lard the carp. It is lamentable that in our degenerate 
days cooks who pretend to serve a fish in the Chambord 
manner neglect the most important point of all — the lard- 
ing, and are content to bard him with slices of bacon 
in the cooking. This is not enough : the larding is essen-^ 
tial ; and if a cook does not dare to lard a salmon — (where 
is the €Ook who could be guilty of such profanation ?) — ^he 
must not call it saumon k la Chambord. 

First of all, after being duly cleaned, the carp is to be 
stuffed with ordinary veal stufiing or with quenelle of 
whiting. The skin is then to be removed from head to tail 
wherever the larding needle is to be applied. This simply 
means that the skin may be left on his shirtfront for the 
better preservation of his stufiing. He is next to be larded 
with bacon in geometrical lines, but if the day should 
happen to be Friday, the strips of bacon may be replaced 
by strips of eel or of cooked trufiles, in which case he must 
at least in the brazier be enfolded in slices of bacon. He 
is, thus attired, to be laid in state — that is, not on his side, 
but in the position of life — on the drainer of a fishkettle, and 
to be somewhat more than half immersed in a Mirepoix of 
white wine. He is to be covered over with buttered paper 



Carving 105 

and brazed gently. In an hour he will be fit for the dinner 
of a king. Fiat. 

Needless to say that the carp to be treated in this royal 
fashion is a large one : obtain, if possible, a large Rhine 
carp. He can be served in his own sance, or if this is not 
deemed enough, it can be finished off with Allemande. 
But it is always a point of honour to make the dish look 
well, and to give the carp k la Chambord a glorious retinue 
of good things. Glaze his head ; diaper him with slices of 
tru£9e ; and surround him in ordered masses with truffles, 
with crayfish and crayfish tails, with quenelles of whiting, 
and with regiments of soft roes furnished by himself and 
brethren of his tribe. 

Carrots were first introduced into England by Flemish 
gardeners in the time of Elizabeth; and in the reign of 
James I. they were still so uncommon that ladies wore 
branches of them on their hats and on their sleeves instead 
of feathers. They are now, next to the onion, the most 
important vegetable in .all soups and sauces ; but — though 
they are also used to garnish various dishes, especially salt 
beef — they are rarely presented at table as an entremet by 
themselves. The only important entremet in which they 
appear is called after the Flemings, who first grew them 
for the English in Kent. 

Carrots in the Flemish way. — The carrots must be young. 
Blanch them, slice them or turn them, and simmer them 
for half an hour in an ounce of butter, a wineglassful of 
water, and a little salt and pepper. Finish them with a 
leason of two yolks of eggs, a little milk or cream, a pinch 
of sugar, and a dash of chopped parsley. 

Carrot Soup is known under the name of Cr^cy. 

Carving. — Wynkyn de Worde printed in the year 1508 
" The Booke of Kervinge." Some of the words are 
curious, and throw light on the names of dishes which 



Io6 Cassis 

— » " 

have been corrupted by process of time. Where the 
meaning is quite plain the spelling is modernised^ but not 
otherwise. 

" The terms of a carver be as here followeth. Break 
that deer — ^lesche (leach) that brawn — ^rear that goose — 
lift that swan — sauce that capon— spoil that hen — frnsche 
(fruss) that chicken — unbrace that mallard — ^unlace that 
coney — dismember that heron— display that crane— dis- 
figure that peacock — ^unjoint that bittern — untache that 
curlew — alaye that felande — wing that partridge — wing 
that quail — mine that plover — thigh that pigeon^border 
that pasty — thigh that woodcock — thigh all manner small 
birds — ^timber that fire — tire that egg — chine that salmon 
— string that lamprey — splat that pike — sauce that plaice 
— sauce that tench — splay that bream — side that haddock 
— tusk that barbel — culpon that trout — fin that chevin — 
trassene that eel — tranch that sturgeon — undertranch that 
porpoise — tame that crab — barb that lobster. Here endeth 
the goodly terms of Carving." 

Cassis — the French name for black currants and for 
the syrup made from them. The cassis of Dijon has a 
great reputation throughout France as a cooling drink. 
There is nothing in England made from the same fruit 
that can approach it ; but that stiff-necked generation — 
the Commissioners of Customs — have put a prohibitive 
duty upon it, so that it is impossible to import it. This is 
because there is a drop or two of alcohol in it. The alcohol 
is infinitesimal, not enough to upset the equilibrium of a 
fly, very much less than there is in the cheap clarets which 
are charged only a duty of 2d. a bottle ; yet the custom- 
house levies a duty on it of 2s. 4d. a bottle — tliat is, even 
more than on neat brandy, the duty on which is but Is. 9d. 
a bottle. It is amazing that the English manufacturers, 
being thus protected, are unable to do anything to rival 
the French in the preparation of this delicious and most' 



Caviare 107 

innocent liqueur, which Sir Wilfrid Lawson himself might 
drink without a suspicion of the still. 

Cauliflower is to be had nearly all the year round, 
and it is at its best in England. The Dutch send to 
England for their cauliflower seeds, and there was at one 
time, if there is not still, a considerable export to France of 
the cauliflowers themselves. 

They are to be carefully trimmed and (to eject the 
insects) soaked for some time in cold water and salt. 
They are then to be boiled in abundance of water with 
enough of salt for twenty minutes — more or less. The 
time must be ascertained by pressure. Drain them well, 
and send them to table with English sauce acidulated ^dth 
lemon-juice or vinegar. It can be thus served either for a 
garnish or for an entremet. If for a garnish, the acid 
should be scarcely perceptible, and the cauliflower may be 
a little less cooked than for an entremet. 

Caidyiower au Gratin, — Entremet. In this case all the 
green leaves are to be removed, and the cauliflowers to be 
boiled as above, but rather underdone. No harm if they 
are cut into quarters to shorten the time of boiling. Pre- 
pare an English sauce according to the receipt, only that 
less butter may be used, and instead of it two ounces of 
grated cheese — half Gruyfere, half Parmesan being best. 
Break up some of the cauliflower, arrange it on a dish, 
and pour over it some of the sauce. On this bed heap up 
the rest of the cauliflower unbroken ; pour over it the 
remainder of the sauce ; powder it with the finest bread- 
crumbs or raspings, and with more grated cheese ; lastly, 
bedew it with a spoonful of oiled butter. Put this into 
a hot oven till it takes a golden colour — say from ten 
to fifteen minutes. If the colour is imperfect, use the 
salamander. Serve it in the dish in which it has been 
cooked. 

Caviabb. — If it were not a pleasure it would be au 



lo8 Cayenne Pepper. 



imperative daty to eat caviare, for reasons which will be 
given when we come to sturgeon, of which it is the roe. 
It is to be spread on toast, with a squeeze of lemon. 

Catenke Pepper would be much better called Red 
pepper, for it does not come exclusively from Cayenne. 
It is the powder of the dried pods and seeds of the cap- 
sicum. The name of Chillies is a Mexican name for the 
pods. 

Celery and Celeriac are cultivated varieties of a wild 
plant common enough in England — smallage. It was the 
Italian gardeners who educated smallage into celery, and 
brought it into European notice towards the middle of the 
seventeenth century. Celeriac came about the same time 
— its distinction being that whereas in celery the gardeners 
brought the stalks to perfection, in celeriac they spent their 
skill upon the root. Unfortunately celeriac, though on the 
Continent much in favour, is little known in England ; yet 
in some respects it is more useful than celery, being reared 
with greater ease and at less expense, being also fit for use 
during eight months of the year. The name of celery is 
derived from the Greek for parsley ; and it is curious that 
celeri-ac contains the Latin name {apium) added to the 
Greek. Ac is to be identified with the French ctche, 
and with the final syllable of smallage ; and all three are 
transmutable into apium on the same principle that the 
Scottish Mac and the Welsh Ap are dialectical varieties 
of one and the same word. 

Celery is most seen at table in England raw, to be eaten 
with cheese or sometimes in salad ; but its presence at 
table is felt in other ways, for like parsley it is in constant 
demand for pot and pan to heighten soup and sauce. Also 
it makes a soup of itself ; it makes a sauce of itself ; it is 
excellent plain boiled, as sea-kale ; it will stew to perfection ; 
and it makes a salad which is not only good in itself, but 



Chambord 1 09 



also doubly good because it may be had when other salads 
fail. 

Celery Soup. — ^To be made on the same principle as 
asparagus soup. 

Celery Sauce, — For poultry or game. Slice very thin 
four or five heads of celery, and put it into a saucepan 
with pepper, salt, a pinch of sugar, a sliced onion, and for 
every head of celery an ounce of butter. Let it stew very 
slowly till the celery is melted ; only take care not to 
brown it. Then add four ounces of flour, with about a 
pint of milk ; let it cook for twenty minutes more, and 
rub it through a sieve. 

Pur6e of Celery is the same as the foregoing, but thicker. 
Use more celery and less milk. Finish it with a pat of 
butter, and serve it as a garnish for cutlets. 

Celery for Garnish, — Plain boiled the same as sea-kale. 
Another way is to work it like endive or spinach. 

Celery in Salad is excellent by itself, and may be eaten 
ever}' whit as the French eat it — that is, root, branch, and 
leaf. For additions to it try any or all of these in slices : 
beet-root, Spanish onion, kidney potato. 

Chambord. — The name of a royal castle near Blois,built 
in the most florid style of the renascence by Francis I. 
(1526) on his return from captivity in Madrid. It was here 
that he wrote with a diamond on a pane of glass the 
couplet — 

Toute femme varie — 
Bien fol est qui s'y fie, 

which his descendant, Lous XIV., put away to please 
Mademoiselle de la Yalli^re. The castle is remarkable in 
many ways. It is a splendid specimen of architecture, and 
some of the most famous scenes in French history were 
enacted in its precincts. But, after all, it is most widely 



i 



no Chantilly Basket 



known throughout the world for one little detail of 
cookery which was first practised in its kitchen. Before 
the time of Francis there was no special merit in French 
cookery. It was no better than English or Flemish- 
The French, with all their strength, were barbarians as 
compared with the Italians. It was in the Italian cities 
that the arts revived, and that all the refinements of wealth 
and commerce were best cultivated, Francis the First 
married his son to Catherine of Medici, who brought with 
her to Paris and to Chambord all the graces and muses of 
Florence. Through her the Italians taught the French 
manners, enlightened them in criticism, schooled them in 
art, showed them how to cook. They brought the frican- 
deau with them from Italy, and when they were installed 
in the kitchen at Chambord they applied the principle of 
the fricandeau to the fish which abounds in the neighbour- 
hood. The commune of Chambord has more than a dozen 
considerable ponds, all abounding in carp, a fish which is 
sometimes poor in flavour. But veal also is apt to be 
insipid, though it adopts and appropriates extraneous 
flavours with rare docility and with beautiful results. The 
Italian artisTs determined to lard the carp as they larded 
the cushion of veal to make a fricandeau. The effect was 
so good that the method of dressing carp IL la Chambord 
spread over France, thoroughly established itself in the 
French kitchen, and is celebrated over the world as among 
the triumphs of French art. Unhappily the later French 
cooks make the most dreadful blunders in the application of 
the Chambord method. Some are quite ignorant of what 
the method really is ; and those who seem to be aware of 
it are weak enough to apply it to fish which are not of the 
same character as the carp and do not need to be larded. 
See Carp. 

Chantilly Basket. — The original Chantilly basket was 
a Savoy cake scooped out and filled with whipt cream* 



Char 1 1 1 

The idea thu8 started has been elaborated into a toy. 
First of all, a dish or mould has to be chosen, shaped like 
a basket. Next a syrup of sugar is boiled to crackling 
point. Then the mould is lined with delicate little cakes — 
ratafias the best, which are made to stick together edge to 
edge by being dipt in the sugar. The bottom of the dish^ 
may be lined in like manner with sponge cakes or maca- 
roons, to absorb any liquid from the frothed cream. A 
basket is in this way formed which may easily be removed 
from the mould to a proper dish, and then filled with whipt 
cream. 

Chantillt Cream — the French name for whipt cream ; 
but it is very absurd to give local names to a simple prepa- 
ration known to all the world. When the great ones of 
the earth invent a good dish let them have the credit of it ; 
but it is mere usurpation to describe whipt cream in an 
epithet which represents it as the peculiar property of the 
House of CondcS. 

Chaktillt Soup. — Look for Esau^s Pottage of lentils. 

Char is, like trout, a fish of the salmon tribe, about nine 
inches or a foot long. Very few come to London ; but it 
is worth a visit to the English, the Welsh, or the Scotch 
lakes to enjoy them. With a char on the table and with 
Windermere and Rydal Mount in view, we are truly in the 
heart of the Lake Poetry. The char is to be treated like 
trout, but it is generally understood, and Francatelli insists, 
that this fine laker — worthy associate of Wordsworth and 
Southey — is the best of all fish for waterzootje. This was 
to be expected. We all know that the Lake school of 
poetry is not to be surpassed in its simplicity. 

The name of the fish means red — from the redness of the 
belly. St Evremond, in one of his poems — an epistle — 
recommends his correspondent to make a trial of a certain 
poisson rouge — meaning the char, which is peculiar to 



1 1 2 Charlotte 



England. The char is known in Scotland as the Lochleven 
trout — ^also as the cardhui, the red-black. 

Charlotte. — The grateful heart will always inquire- 



Who was this Charlotte in whose name the apple and other 
fruits are endowed with a new charm, and become as it 
were the enchanted apples of story ? I have seen English 
books which aver that she was Queen Charlotte, the wife of 
Farmer George, There is only so much truth in this that 
Charlotte was a German. She was at one time the most 
famous of her name in Europe. Napoleon read Goethe's 
romance of Werther no less than six timeS; and Charlotte 
was the heroine of the romance. 

Werther had a love for Charlotte 

Such as words could never utter. 
Would you know how first he met her \ 

She was cutting bread and butter. 

Her name has been given to the combination of bread 
and butter with apples, which can be prepared either with 
or without a mould. If without a mould, the Charlotte is 
simply a quantity of buttered apples (which see), piled upon 
a dish, and hedged round with sippets of bread fried in 
butter. If with a mould, it is the same thing reached by a 
different process. The Charlotte mould is a perfectly plain 
cylinder about five inches deep. This is lined with thin 
slices of bread which have been dipped in clarified butter. 
The great art of the composition consists in the arrangement 
of the lining, cutting the bread into shape, like the pieces 
of a wooden pail, so as either to fit exactly into the mould, 
or to make the staves overlap one another. When the 
little bread pail is formed within the mould, it is filled with 
buttered apples already prepared; it is covered with a 
round lid of bread dipped in butter ; the mould is put into 
the oven ; and it is left there for five or ten minutes, so 
that the bread and butter may take a fine golden tint. 
Then turn the Charlotte out of the mould into a dish; and 



Chartreuse 113 



pour roand it some diluted apricot jam. The same receipt 
applies to pears, apricots, aud other fruits. 

Cliarlotte Russe. — The Russian Charlotte is something of 
a libertine. At least she has much freedom of choice. She 
began by using finger biscuits for bread, and bj choosing 
to have them with their contents cold, which at once put 
butter out of the question. A pail of finger biscuits was 
formed in a round mould, and filled in alternate layers with 
a cold marmalade of apples and of apricots alone. After- 
inrards cream was considered a desirable addition, and it 
T¥as added. The Charlotte was filled Mrith whipt cream, or 
with a Bavarian cheese flavoured with fruit, or with a fruit 
jelly and cream such as that described at page 40. Some- 
times the finger biscuits of the Charlotte concealed a 
blancmauger or some other simple jelly. But it is always 
expected that the Charlotte Busse shall be well chilled upon 
the ice. 

Chartreuse. — The monks of the G-rande Chartreuse are 
very proud of this liqueur, and jealous of their exclusive 
right to sell it — ^a right which brings them in a gross 
return of 2,000,000 francs a year. It is curious to re- 
member that the monastic order to which they belong was 
founded by Saint Bruno in order to surpass the Benedictine 
rule in austerity of life. The Benedictine friars chose 
pleasant places for their abode, in fertile valleys, amid lovely 
gardens, and by dear streams abounding in fish. Saint 
Bruno went into the desert and chose for the site of his 
monastery the most desolate and barren spot he could find 
in the mountains of Dauphin^. But these unhappy, self- 
denying Carthusians,who live on vegetables and are strictly 
forbidden the flesh of bird or beast, have made up for the 
misery which they have accepted as their own lot in life by 
the delights which they have imagined for their fellow-men. 
They have invented the Chartreuse of Partridge for days of 
fasting. The wing of a partridge is disguised in an enve-» 

8 



1 1 4 Chartreuse 



lope of csabbage. We satisfy our consciences in apparently 
taking nothing but cabbage upon our plates^ when — ^lo I 
a wonder — we find partridge in our mouths, the reward 
of merit. A still greater feat is the invention of the 
liqueur known as Chartreuse, the fame of which has spread 
to the ends of the world. It is made chiefly from a plant 
having the beatific name of Angelica Archangelica ; 
gathered with an Ave, concocted nigh the fames of burning 
censers, distilled amid spiritual songs, bottled by dedicated 
hands, corked with fervid ejaculations, labelled with the 
holy sign of the cross on the trade mark, packed in straw 
and hammered in cases to the tune of vesper-bells and 
matin-bells, and charged with a blessing for the entrails of 
the faithful, to help digestion, to spur the kidneys, and to 
make the soul happy after dinner. Benedicite. 

It is the most precious of all the liqueurs made in 
France, and raises the Carthusians above every monastic 
order, for the benefits which in these modem times they 
have conferred upon Christendom. The yellow Chartreuse 
is the best. The green is fiery. There is a third kind — ' 
white — the mildest of all. 

Chartreuse of Partridges has perhaps been sufficiently 
described in the foregoing paragraph. It is simply Perdrix 
aux chmix — partridge and cabbage done up in a fanciful 
manner. The French think it so good a jest against the 
holy friars to conceal a carved partridge in cabbage, that 
they have constructed several elaborate ways of making 
the concealment, calling in the aid of carrots and turnips 
— not so much for their taste as for the contrast of colour 
which they afford, red against white, in fashioning orna- 
mental vegetable moulds. 

Chateaubriand. — It is not necessary to add to tie 
account of this given in the introduction, and I am not 
anxious to repeat the story. The peculiarity of the steak 
is in its thickness, and in the way of broiling it; but 



Cherry 115 

sometimes also it is served with a peculiar sauce, namely, 
Spanish sauce diluted with white wine, then considerably 
reduced and at the moment of serving enriched with a pat 
of maltre d'hotel butter. 

Cheesecakes. — There is a curious mistake going about 
— that the incomparable cheesecakes of Benreddin Hassan, 
which only he and his mother could make, were strewn 
with pepper. Sir Walter Scott, among others, makes this 
mistake in the ^^ Heart of Midlothian." It is an error of 
precisely the same kind as one committed in regard to 
himself in the great encyclopsedia of Laronsse, where it is 
stated that as a boy he could not repeat his lessons unless 
his fingers were twirling one of the buttons of his waistcoat 
The cheesecakes were strewn with grains of pomegranate 
and sugar ; and Benreddin was beaten for a pretended 
fault — that he ought to have put pepper upon them, and 
did not 

Cheesecakes are now made with almost any kind of 
custard ; but the following is the old orthodox method : — 
Take half a poimd of dry curd, six ounces of sugar, six 
yolks of eggs, two ounces of butter, some nutmeg, salt, and 
the zest of two lemons. Pound all into a soft paste ; dis- 
tribute it into tartlet pans which have been hned with 
puff-paste ; put dtron-peel, currants, or sultanas on the 
top of each ; and bake them in a moderate oven. 

Cherry. — There has long been wanted a good classifica- 
tion of cherries. The least confusing is one lately made by 
Dr. Robert Hogg. He first of all divides them into Geans 
and Griottes. In the Geans, the fruit is heart-shaped, or 
nearly so, and the juice is sweet : in the Griottes, it is 
round or oblate^ though sometimes, as in the Morella, 
inclining a little to the heart shape, and the juice is acid 
or sub-acid. There i§ a marked difference also in the 
form of the trees. The Geans again are divided into 
those which have the flesh tender and melting, and those 



ii6 Chestnuts 



which have the flesh only half tender^ firm, and crackling. 
The first of these are called Geans proper, and are sub- 
divided into Black Greans and Bed Geans ; the second are 
called Black Hearts and White Hearts. The Griottes are 
likewise divided into two kinds, according to the shapes of 
the trees ; and these are again sabdivided into Black 
Dukes and Bed Dukes, according to the colour of the 
skin. Black Morellos and Bed Morellos — ^the last being the 
Kentish cheny. Thus there are eight kinds : 1. Black 
Geans ; 2. B^ Geans ; 3. Black Hearts ; 4. White 
Hearts (where it is to be observed that the word heart 
refers to the shape) ; 5. Black Dukes ; 6. Bed Dukes ; 
7. Black Morellos ; 8. Bed Morellos. 



Cherry Brandy. — Take Black G^ans or Black Morello 
but remember that the former are sweet, the latter acid 
and bitter, and there will be a great difference in the 
results. Thej must not be over-ripe. Take off the stalks, 
and if you choose prick them with a pin. Fill a bottle 
with them three-quarters, pour in brandy to the neck, 
cork it up. It will be ready in a laonthi 

Compote of Cherries. — White Hearts boiled in syrup for 
three minutes. Sometimes a little noyau is put into the 
syrup when ready to serve. 

Chestnuts. — If the truth were known, many persons 
would confess that chestnuts never look so tempting as 
when they are seen at the corner of a street on the rude 
baking contrivance of a vagabond noaster. If they only 
had the courage to do so in the &ce of day, they would 
gladly stop to buy a pennyworth and consent to pay a 
shilling. Nobody has been known to feel in the same way 
to boiled chestnuts, unless it be the Portuguese and those 
who have learnt their style, which is to top them (that is, 
nip off their points) and to boil them with anise-seed — ^half 
an ounce to fifty chestnuts. 



Chicken 117 

PurSe of Chestnuts. — The outer and the inner skins 
being removed, put fiftj chestnuts in a stewpan with a 
pint of milk, and boil them slowly over the fire till thej 
are quite done. Next drain away the milk and rub them 
hot through a wire sieve. Put the pur^ thus obtained 
into a stewpan with a pat of butter, a little sugar, a wine- 
glassful of cream, pepper and salt. Make rt hot without 
boiling it, and serve it with cutlets, goose-, duck, or 
turkey. 

Chestnut Soup. — Make the purfe as above, using broth 
instead of milk. Add to it three or four pint» 01 broth, 
double broth, or good brown gravy. 

Chestnut Forcemeat will be found under Forcemeat. 

Chestnut Pudding. — The only very good one is the 
Nesselrode ; but that is superb, and is described under its 
name. 

Chicken. — ^There are many fine but rather useless dis- 
tinctions made among fowls, according to their age and 
quality. There is the infant — ^the spring chicken, or 
poulet k la Beine ; the boy pullet, or poulet de grain ; the 
young gentleman, or coq vierge ; the young lady, or 
poularde ; the capon, the hen, and the old cock. Among 
these the poulette, or girl chick, is rarely, if ever, men- 
tioned ; but her name is given to the Poulette sauce, which 
is always much favoured with boiled fowls of every descrip- 
tion, with many other kinds of white meat, and with fish. 
Her brother the pullet, or poulet, gives his name to most 
of the preparations of fowl, young or old, male or female. 
It was to give honour to the pullet that Napoleon fought 
the battle of Marengo ; it is the pullet that is always sup- 
posed to be immolated in a fricass^ ; and the name of 
chicken broth is given by courtesy to the dissolution of the 
toughest old cock, whose crow has many a year been heard 
from farm to &rm, and almost &om shire to shire. 



1 1 8 Chicken 

Chicken Broth will be found described as Fowl Broth 
in the article on Soup. Add to it rice and finely chopped 
parsley. 

The Qtieen^s Chicken Broth (Potage k la Reine) — the 
queen being Marguerite of Valois. This was in the old 
receipt, and in the style of the sixteenth century — ^a fowl 
or fowls half-roasted first, then boiled, then boned, the 
flesh hacked to pieces, brayed in a mortar with rice, and 
diluted with milk or cream of almonds. It was a sort of 
blancmanger as then made, but without sugar. Modem 
taste will hardly now tolerate the almond milk in soup — 
not because it is in <any way bad, but because the palate is 
curiously dependent on habit and association, and almonds 
are associated with luscious preparations overpowered with 
sugar, which are not to be thought of at the beginning of 
dinner. But whoever wishes for the true chicken broth 
of Queen Margaret can always add to it almond milk or 
cream. As for half-roasting the fowls first, that was very 
common in the olden time, and tlie roast flavour thus pro- 
duced was deemed essential to fowl in almost all its forms. 
In modern cookery it is a principle that white soup should 
be white, and that it loses its character, ceasing to be white, 
when the roast flavour proper to brown cookery is, however 
slightly, added to it. In the present day, the Queens 
chicken soup is to be made with a couple of chiekens boiled 
for an hour in a gallon of beef broth, veal broth, or in 
simple water, with a sparing supply of vegetables — two 
carrots and two onions. The broth is then to be strained 
and freed from fat ; the chickens are to be skinned, boned, 
their flesh (picked clear of fat) to be chopped and brayed 
in a mortar with half a pound of boiled rice ; after which 
the mash of chicken and rice is to be added to the strained 
broth, and all passed through a tammy. Warm it up, and 
add to it nearly a pint of hot cream, which, according to 
the old receipt, should partly at least be almond cream. 



Chicken 1 1 9 

Spatchcock is the name for a broiled chicken. It is pre- 
cisely the same word as '^ spitchcock," the name for a broiled 
eel ; and both are a corruption of '' spitstack," referring to 
the fact that the chicken or the eel to be broiled must; like 
a kidney, be stack on a little spit or skewer, to spread it 
out. (See the word itself further on.) The chicken is to be 
split open at the back, spread upon a skewer, sprinkled 
with salt and pepper, rubbed with butter, and then grilled 
the inside surface first of all taking the fire. 

Roast Chicken, — See that when the fowl is, trussed the 
nefarious habit of keeping back the liver is departed from. 
The liver wing is always the best part of a roast fowl. 
Very young chickens being dry in flesh, are often barded ; 
but full-sized and well-fed fowls do not require it. Let 
them be dusted with flour, and basted frequently with 
butter. A large capon takes an hour, or even more, to 
roast ; a chicken about half the time. They are usually 
served with a garnish of cresses which have been sprinkled 
with salt and vinegar. The garnish, however, would be 
more welcome if it were less frequent. 

Boiled Chicken or Fowl, — In the English way the fowl is 
boiled, or rather stewed, in plain salt and water. In the 
French way it is rubbed with lemon-juice, slices of lemon 
are laid upon its breast, slices of bacon are tied over all, it 
is put into the pot surrounded with carrots^ onions, and a 
faggot of sweet-herbs; and it is boiled or stewed or brazed 
in broth or double broth. With boiled fowl the livers and 
gizzards are not served ; but the English mode of boiling 
the fowl is so simple that it is always insipid unless accom- 
panied with some salt meat — tongue or bacon — to create a 
contrast. The sauce that goes with it and is poured over 
it is a blanquette or white sauce. It may be the maitre 
d'hotel sauce known in England as parsley and butter 
sauce; it may be the poulette sauce, which is a kind of 
mock Allemande ; or it may be Bechamel To one and all 



1 20 Chicken 

the name of Blanquette rightly applies, though as a role it 
is not so often given to a whole fowl as to pieces of fowl 
served in the white sance. 

Chicken with rice (Poulet an riz). — Boil the chicken in 
the French way for half an hour with a fitggot of pot- 
herbs in broth. Boil a quarter of a pound of rice apart, 
either in water or in broth. From the one remove the 
faggot ; and drain the rice, which is then to be added to 
the chicken and cooked with it for a few minutes. Serve 
the rice on a dUb. well moistened with the liquor of the 
chicken ; put the chicken on the top of it^ and add a 
laiflefBl of the best gravy. 

Chicken with tarragon (Poulet k Pestragon). — Boil the 
chicken as above, but with the addition of tarragon to the 
seasoning. When the chicken is to be served, strain and 
skim the liquor, and strew into it and over the chicken in 
the dish a spoonful of chopped tarragon. 

In the foregoing receipts the chicken or fowl is supposed 
to be whole ; in the following it is dismembered. 

Chicken Cutlets. — ^The white parts of the fowl being often 
used in dishes by themselves, what is to be done with the 
legs? Bemove the thighbone, but leave the drumstick. 
Let the legs thus prepared be slowly brazed in some seasoned 
stock ; let them be taken out and pressed between two 
dishes until cold ; they are then to be egged, breadcrumbed, 
fried ; and serve with a Bechamel sauce, together with a 
vegetable garnish. 

Horly of Chicken. — The fillets marinaded and fried. 
See Horlv. 
Epigram of Chicken, — See Epigrams. 

Supreme of Chicken, — The fillets of several fowls are 
taken and separated from the minion fillets. The fillets 
are to be trimmed into something of a cutlet or pear shape, 
removing skin and nervous tissue ; the minion fillets may 



Chicken 1 2 1 

be contised, as the French cooks saj — ^that is, inlaid with 
truffles or with tongue. They are to be lightljr tossed in 
butter, taking care not to colour them. The butter is to 
be poured off, and Supreme sauce put in lieu of it, in which 
the fillets are to be tossed, but not allowed to boil. At the 
same time have as many slices of tongue as there are fillets ; 
stamp them with a round cutter to range in size with the 
fillets, and heat them in some double broth. Then prepare 
a dish with button mushrooms heaped in the centre, with 
truffles, or with any other garnish which may be desired. 
Arrange round it alternately the fillets and the slices of 
tongue. On the top array the minion fillets. Pour some 
Supreme sauce round the dish, taking care not to mask the 
pieces of tongue. 

Friteau of Chicken. — Cut up two fowls, and marinade 
them for a couple of hours in oil, lemon-juice, chopped 
parsley and onion, pepper and salt Then take out the 
pieces, wipe them dry, dip them in milk, flour them well, 
fry them in hot fat to a golden colour, drain them, dish 
them on a napkin, garnish them with fried parsley, and 
serve them with tomato sauce, 

Fricass^ of Chicken is but a boiled chicken cut to pieces 
and heated up in a Foulette sauce, to which the Poulette 
Belish of mushrooms, and sometimes parsley, sometimes 
shalots or button onions, has been added. (See Poulette 
Sauce.) This is all that is essential to the receipt, but the 
dish is a favourite, and may be enriched to any extent, both 
in the way of taste and of ornament. 

Chicken d la Marengo — the chicken after battle — the 
w^arrior's chicken. The chicken of the battle betrays 
hastiness of preparation, and turns the fault into victory. 
It is fried in oil, and this oil is afterwards worked into 
sauce. But whereas all other sauces must be' carefully 
freed from the appearance of oils and fats which have not 
incorporated with them — and this is often a tedious process 



122 Chiffofinade 



— the chicken of the battle is sent to table with the super* 
fluous oil floating loose about the dish and on the surface 
of the sauce. It is not every one who can stand this, but 
those ^ho have their appetites and digestions prepared for 
it by a great field day, declare that the battle of Mareno^o 
was well fought as a preliminary to the chicken of the 
name. This chicken is cut up as for fricassee, and is fried 
for twenty minutes or thereabouts, until it takes a good 
colour, in half a tumblerful of oil seasoned with pepper and 
salt. Those who object to oil may use clarified butter in- 
stead. When the chickens are nearly cooked, add to them 
a clove of garlic, a couple of shalots, and a faggot of sw^eet- 
herbs. At the end of twenty or twenty-five minutes, take 
out the pieces of chicken and keep them hot. Add to the 
sauce a tablespoonful of tomato pur^e, a ladleful of Spanish 
sauce or good gravy, and a very small pinch of sugar. Stir 
it boiling over the fire for a few minutes, pass it through 
the pointed strainer, and finish it with a little lemon-juice. 
Arrange the chicken in a dish, pour the sauce over it, and 
add a garnish of fried bread and of eggs fried in oil. 

Chicken Saut4 or Tossed is in principle the same as the 
foregoing. Cut up the chicken, and fry it in butter, pepper, 
and salt for twenty or twenty-five minutes, till it becomes 
of a golden tint The legs may be cooked for a few minutes 
before the other pieces are put into the pan, as they take 
longer time. Add at the last, as for the chicken k la 
Marengo, a clove of garlic, two shalots, and a faggot of 
sweet-herbs. Then stir into the pan a spoonful of flour, 
together with a glass of Marsala and a little broth, and toss 
it on the fire till it boils. Arrange the chicken on a dish,, 
strain the sauce over it, and add to it a garnish of mush- 
rooms with a sprinkling of lemon-juice. 

Chicory. — See under Endive and Salad. 

Chiffonnade. — The word is scarcely classical, and, mean* 
ing Odds and Ends, is not too exalted for so refined a soup 



Cibol 123 

as that which we know better under the name of Spring 
Soup. In what is perhaps the most popular cookery book 
in France — that of Viard — it is set down as Potage Finii- 
tanier ou Chiffonnade. In the present work it is described 
under the name of Brunoise. It usually means a selection 
of vegetables, nicely cut, served in a good consomm^ ; but 
sometimes, instead of the consomm^, the French serve 
them in a green-pea soup. 

Chives (anciently dve, but in modern French ciboulette 
and civette), the smallest and finest of the onion tribe — 
Allium schcenoprasum. It is a very hardy perennial plant, 
and said to be a native of the British soil. The Spaniards 
call it eibollino de Inglaterra — the • little wee onion of 
England. Its bulbs are slender and not worth speaking 
of ; it is the leaves and young tops of the plant that are 
used as a pot-herb and for salads. When the leaves are 
gathered for use and cut close, others will grow in succes- 
sion, and a bed will thus last three or four years. It is thOi 
chive or cive that gives its name to what the French caU| 
civet of har6 or of roebuck. 

Cibol, in French dboule, in Latin cepulla, a little onion. — 
There will come a time when, under the fostering care of 
Sir Henry Cole, who succeeds in all that he undertakes, 
and under the tutorship of Mr. Buckmaster, who has car\'ed 
out a great place for himself as in point of time the first 
Professor of Cookery, those who aspire to a name as cooks 
will have to pass through an examination and receive a 
diploma ; and one of the foremost questions to be put to 
the candidates for a degree will be — What is a cibol? 
what do the French cooks mean by the ciboule which they 
so often prescribe ? It is a simple thing to answer that 
it is the Allium Jistulosum — ^best known in England as the 
Welsh onion — a hardy perennial of strong flavour, with 
no bulbs, and used only in the stalks, like leeks. That 
answer is correct ; but it is apt to be confused by the fact 



124 Cider 

that the cibol or Welsh onion is oilen called bj conntry 
people Scallion — a name which is also given to all sorts of 
onions that do not produce bulbs. The word scallion comes 
from Ascalon^ and belongs of right to the shalot or onion 
of Ascalon. The ^SLtne was afterwards given to a hollow 
leek grown in South Wales, with roots in clusters like those 
of shalots. It was then transferred by mistake to the Welsh 
onion or cibol ; then again to all spring onions, as thej 
are called — that is, the strong green tops of onions which 
do not bulb, or the shoots from bulbs of the preceding 
year. 

Cider. — ^White wine is much used in French cookery, 
but especially in the cooking of fish. Cider is an excellent 
substitute for it in English kitchens ; and indeed the white 
wine in which a French cook boils his fish is often so thin 
and acid that it may well cost less than a bottle of good 
cider and also be less wholesome. Pray remember that 
good cider is better than vile wine. 

r CinKamon is about the oldest known spice ip the world, 
and comes from the bark of a species of laurel. In America 
and on the continent of Europe it is often confounded with 
cassia, which goes by the name of Chinese cinnamon. The 
true cinnamon is the cinnamon of Ceylon ; but it also comes 
from Madras, Bombay, and Java, though of inferior quality. 
The Cassia or Cassia lignea, which comes chiefly from China, 
has the appearance and the qualities of cinnamon ; but it is 
coarser in flavour and not so sweet. It is in great request, 
however, in Turkey, in Russia, and in Germany, where the 
true cinnamon is not deemed strong enough. Pereira 
speaks of a merchant who sent cinnamon worth 3s. 6d. a 
pound to Constantinople, and found it unsaleable, while 
his cassia at 6d. a pound was in great request. The chief 
consumers of cinnamon are the chocolate makers of Spain, 
Italy, and France, and they are not to be put off with 
cassia when they can get the true bark. When the Dutch 



Cinnamon 125 



held possession of Ceylon, they were known at times to 
burn the cinnamon, in order to limit the supply and to 
keep up the price. But the supply is limited in any case, 
for though the bark grows again upon the cinnamon trees, 
it takes three years to do so ; and a crop which comes but 
once in three years cannot be considered abundant More- 
over the tree is otherwise exhausted, for the Cingalese 
express from the root a juice that hardens into camphor, 
the medical virtues of which are nearly as famous as those 
of the cinnamon bark. 

There are points of interest about cinnamon in connec«> 
tion with old cookery ; and three of these may be noted. 
The first is that when we hear of sweet powder, or I 
poudre douce, in the dainty dishes of our ancestors, this ' 
means a mixture of cinnamon and sugar. Some recent, 
writers have seen this powder mentioned as pulvis dulcia,' 
have misread it pulvis ducis, and have rendered it Poudre 
de Due, and Duke's powder. 

The second. There was a Cameline sauce used in the 
middle ages the name of which is a terrible puzzle to the 
French. According to French accounts, the sauce was 
composed of cinnamon, ginger, cloves, paradise grains 
(that is, cardamums), bread, and vinegar. According to 
old English receipts, dating from the time of Chaucer, it 
was made of currants, kernels of nuts, crusts of bread, 
ginger, cloves, flour of cinnamon, and salt brayed well and 
mixed with vinegar. Littr^ says that the sauce must have 
been called Cameline because of some supposed resemblance 
to camelot or camlet— a tunic made originally of camel's 
hair ! It is true that we have a modem sauce called Velvet- 
down from its smoothness ; but to derive cameline from 
camelot is too big a camel to swallow. The origin of the 
term is not far to seek. It was usual in those days to name 
a dish from one of its many ingredients, and we are surprised 
to find that the ingredient selected for the name is often by 
no means the most prominent There was a mustard soup^ 



126 Cinnamon 



in which the mustard was a very small part. There was a 
galantine in which the galingale was as modest as the 
pistachio is now. And so here the sance is named from the 
cinnamon, which the French named canelle. It will be 
asked^ How came the n to be transformed intD m ? It is 
especially noted in the English receipt that the canelle — 
spelt canel — ^is to bo in flour, and the old French name for 
this must have been canelmine. Large salt, what we call 
rock salt, was salgrenu or saugrenu (hence our word corned 
beef) ; small, fine salt was salmenu or salmine. On the 
same principle they must have said for fine flour of cin- 
namon canelmine, which was no doubttr ansposed and 
corrupted into cameline. 

The third. There was another sauce known at the 
English court of Richard II. as Cyne, Cynee, Syne, Synee, 
and Sen^. If this was not mustard (sinapis), which was 
formerly called senvy, the name most probably had to do 
with cinnamon, which appears sometimes, though not 
always, in the sauce. Note, however, that in this case 
tho name would be derived not from the first syllable of 
cinnamon, but from China or Sina. To this day the 
French know cassia as the Chinese cinnamon ; and the 
name of China in connection with cinnamon goes so far 
back that three hundred years ago we find Scaliger sneer- 
ing at those learned men who seemed to confound the 
name of cinnamon or kinnamon with China or Sina. It is 
possible, therefore, that here we have the origin of the 
Cynee or Synee which has so much puzzled antiquarians ; 
and if this conjecture should prove to be correct, then 
Cynee and Cameline are but varieties of one and the same 
sauce. The chief objection to the explanation is that 
cinnamon is not always present in Cynee. On the other 
hand, the readers of this dictionary will have evidence 
enough before them of names being retained when that 
which they signified is no more. Tbere is cervelas with- 
out brains, orgeat without barley, bisque without pigeons 



Cleanliness 127 



galantine without galingale, cheesecakes without curd, 
pomatum without apple, vinegar without wine, blanc- 
manger without fowl, marmalade without quince, capillaire 
without maidenhair, and vinegar without wine. And why 
not cjnee now and then without cinnamon ? 

Civet {dvet de likvre) is one of the last remains of a 
very old way of naming dishes. The literal English of it 
is chives of hare ; the meaning is hare stewed with chives 
or tiny onions. It is a variation of jugged hare : which see. ( 

Clarify, To — is to render a liquid transparent, be it 
juice of meat, dissolved isinglass, dissolved gelatine, syrup, 
or melted butter. The juices of meat are clarified with 
white of egg and by use of the tammy ; isinglass or gela- 
tine with white of egg and lemon-juice ; sugar also with 
egg ; and melted butter by passing it through a cloth. 

Claude, the great landscape painter. It is sad to think 
that he failed as a cook, though his very name was Jelly 
— ^in French, Gel^. The pastry-cook to whom he was 
apprenticed turned him away for his stupidity. One 
cannot excel in all arts alike, and I feel as I contemplate 
the mellow landscapes of this master that he lacked but 
little to have reached a still greater position in creating 
the serene enjoyments for which a Laguipierre and a 
Carfime were afterwards renowned. 

Cleanliness. — There are few satires on modem civiliza- 
tion which bite deeper than the incessant inculcation of 
cleanliness in the cookery books. It appears not to be 
enough to insist in general terms on this virtue, and to tako 
for granted that it will be observed. It would be possible 
to quote hundreds of receipts in which the writers cannot 
mention a single utensil of the kitchen without on each 
occasion stipulating in an adjective that it shall be clean. 
This is to be put into a clean saucepan, that shall be passed 
through a dean napkin. Here care must be taken that the 



128 Cleopatra^ 5 Supper 



spoon shall be perfectlj clean ; there it is neC33sanr that 
the mortar shall be free from all imparity. There are 
some books in which the word clean is repeated so often 
-with a severe injunction, that if all these phrases were cut 
out and collected together into an appendix, they might 
make up a chapter of thirty or forty pages. What a 
satire on our ways of living if these reiterated injunctions 
are really needed I Let it be enough here to repeat once 
for all the fine old saying that Cleanliness is next to good- 
liness. This has been exaggerated into Cleanliness is 
next to godliness; and if it includes a clean heart as well 
as dean hands it is no exaggeration at alL 

Cleopatra's Suffer, — " Two only pearles there were 
together, the fairest and richest that ever have been known 
in the world ; and those possessed at one time by Cleo- 
patra, the last Queen of Egypt, which came into her 
hands by the means of the great kings of the East, and 
were left unto her by descent. This princesse, when M. 
Anthony had strained himself to doo her all the pleasure he 
possibly could, and had feasted her day by day most sump- 
tuously, and spared for no cost, in the height of her pride 
and wanton travesie (as being a noble curtesan and queene 
withal), began to debase the expense and provision of 
Anthony, and make no reckoning of his costly fare. When 
he demanded again how it was possible to go beyond this 
magnificence of his, she answered again that she should 
spend upon him in one supper 100 hundred thousand 
sestertii (10 millions).* Anthony, who would needs know 
how that might be (for he thought it was impossible), laid a 
great wager with her about it, and she bound it again and 
made it good. The morrow after, when this was to be 
tried, and the wager to be either won or lost, Cleopatra 
made Anthony a supper (because she could not make 
default and let the day appointed to passe) which was 

* Ten million sestertii are equal to twenty million pence. 



Clove 129 

sumptuous and royal enough; howbeit there was no. 
extraordinary service seen upon the board : whereat 
Anthony laughed her to scome^ and by way of mockerie, 
required to see a bill with the account of the particulars. 
She againe said, that whatsoever had been served up 
already, was but the overplus above the rate and propor- 
tion in question, affirming still that shee would yet in that 
supper make up the full summe that she was seezed at ; 
yea, herself alone would eat above that reckoning, and her 
own supper should cost 600 hundred thousand sestertii (60 
millions), and with that commanded the second service to 
be brought in. The servitours that waited at her trencher 
(as they had in charge before) set before her one only cruet 
of sharpe vinegar, the strength whereof is able to dissolve 
pearles. Now she had at her eares hanging those two most 
precious pearles, the singular and onely jewels of the world, 
and even nature's wonder. As Anthony looked wistfully 
upon and expected what shee would do, shee took one of 
them from her eare, steeped it in vinegar, and so soon as it 
was liquefied, dranke it off. And as she was about to do 
the like by the other, L. Plancus, the judge of that wager, 
laid fast hold upon it with his hand, and pronounced withal 
that Anthony had lost the wager. Whereat the man feh 
into a passion of anger. There was an end of one pearle ; 
but the fame of the fellow thereof may go with it ; for 
after that this brave Queene, the winner of so great a 
wager, was taken prisoner, and deprived of her royal 
estate, that other pearle was cut in twaine, that in memo- 
rial of that one half supper of theirs it should remaine unto 
posteritie, hanging at both eares of Venus at Rome in the 
temple Pantheon." 

Clovb. — There is little to be said of the dove which is 
not perfectly well known. Suffice it to say that, belonging 
to the order of myrtles, and best cultivated in the Moluccas, 
the clove tree is singular in its tbirstiness. It so absorbs 

9 



1 30 Cock-a-Leekie 



moisture that nothing will grow under it ; and the doves 
themselves — that is, the nnexpanded flowers of the dove 
tree, which look drier than the driest teetotaler — will, if 
water is placed near them, miraculously increase their 
weight in a few hours. Hence a good amount of cheating 
on the part both of growers and dealers. 

It is a pity that the meaning of this word is lost 
in English. It conveys the most vivid description of the 
spice to which it refers, for the word is no other than 
the French clou de girofle — ^that is, a nail of the caiyo- 
phyllum. One of the charms of gastronomy is in its 
names and the interesting associations which they awaken. 
It is always to be regretted, therefore, when on the one 
hand, as too often happens, names are multiplied without 
reason, land when on the other hand happy names are for- 
gotten or lost in corruption. 

It may be added that a clove of garlic does not mean a 
nail ; it means something cloven. 

CocK-A-LEEKiB is the modern and Scottish version of a 
very old English dish that went by the name of Malachi in 
the fourteenth century — ma being the old name for a fowl, 
as will be seen by reference to the article on Gkllimawfrey. 
The old receipt for Malachi has not come down to us, but 
it is easy to gather what it was from parallel receipts with 
corresponding names. These receipts were nearly aU 
alike The fowl was roasted, or half roasted, and then 
boiled in broth ; it was next hacked to pieces ; and it was 
served, in a pottage with a variety of vegetables, onions 
predominating, sometimes with syrup, always with spices, 
and often with raisins and currants. 

The Scottish version. — Put a capon in broth, and when 
the broth boils add to it half the quantity of the white of 
leeks which it is intended to use, cut in lengths of an inch. 
Skim the liquor carefully, and after half an hour's boiling 
cut the fowl to pieces, removing bones. Put it back into 



Cockle 131 

the pot with the remaining half of the leeks, with pepper 
and salty and with prunes and raisins free from stones. In 
another half-hour or so it onght to be ready. 

The name of the soup takes its rise in Scotland from an 
idea which was once prevalent that there was nothing so 
good for soup as an old cock. This ancient bird has giyen 
way to a capon, and sometimes it never appears in the 
soup, a will also be observed that extraordinary stress is 
laid upon the leeks — too great a stress, indeed, for most 
tastes. It is due to a misreading of the name, which was 
at first malachi, or maleachi — ^meanipg fowl sliced. Sawney 
failed to catch the true meaning, thought it had something 
to do with leeks, and forthwith magnified leeks beyond 
everything in the soup. Latterly the Scotch cooks have 
been inclined to dispense with the prunes. Talleyrand 
greatly enjoyed the soup, and recommended that the 
prunes should be stewed in it but not served. Soyer 
writes : — " With all due respect to Scotch cookery, I will 
always give the preference in the way of soup to their 
cock-aJeekie, even before their inimitable hotch-potch." 

Cockle is the same as the French coquiUe, a little shell; 
so that the phrase '^ cockleshell " is a pleonasm. The name 
is given to a well-known shell which pilgrims were in the 
habit of wearing in their hats to show that they were going 
to sea or had been seafaring. The sign of travel ensured 
them consideration; and moreover the shell, as having 
often a rude drawing of the Virgin or the Crudfizion on 
it, or as having been blessed by the priest, was supposed to 
protect them like a charm. Were it for these associations 
alone, the cockle ought not to be allowed to pass out of 
public regard. In point of fact, it makes an excellent 
fish sauce, which may agreeably take the place of oyster, 
mussel or shrimp sauce at any time, but more especially in 
those months when oysters and mussels are unseasonable ; 
or it may be ased with great effect in the garniture of mate- 



13^ Cod 

lotes and other fish stews. What is it to Enrope if some of 
the pompous French names which are used to glorify cer- 
tain dishes should be utterly forgotten ? We might well 
afford to forget many of them; but it is something to re- 
member the Crusades and all the interesting details of 
modem civilization which are bound up with the pilgrim- 
ages of holy palmers. Why should we forget that these 
holy palmers brought the shalot from Ascalon, and that 
the cockle must ever live in history as the badge they wore 
after they had devoured its inmate ? 

How should I your true love know 

From another one? 
By hlB cockle hat and staff. 

And his sandal shoon. 

It is to Francatelli's credit that he alone of the grea 
cooks in our day has a word to say in favour of cockles. 
He recommends them scolloped like oysters. They are 
Tery good with a Poulette sauce. 

Cod. — Of all the fish we eat,ihe cod is perhaps the most 
voracious. It has been calculated that the cod which come 
to market eat as many millions of herring as all the people 
of these islands manage to consume in a year. They not 
only devour herrings ; they will digest crabs. A cod 
has been caught with no less than thirty-five crabs in his 
stomach, none less than a half-crown piece. K a haddock 
be left on a line for a tide over a codbank, it will disappear, 
and a cod be found to occupy its place on the hook. Its 
gastric juice is so potent that it will turn a lobster red as 
if boiled in the stomach of the cod. Gifted with so good 
an appetite, it sublimes inferior 'fish into a very delicate 
edible of the most easy digestion : at least, this is the case 
from October to Christmas — the whole of the family, from 
the ling to the whiting, being at their best in the colder 
months. London, too, is fortunate in being well supplied 
with this dainty. On <he Continent it is scarce. The cod 



Cod 135 



^^' 



— caught chiefly on the Doggerbank — ^are brought alive to 
the Thames in well-boats, so that there is no excnse for stale 
fish at the fishmongers'. These well-boats were first built 
at Harwich in 1712, so that the system is of long standing ; 
the fish are kept in store at Gravesend, where the Thames 
water is sufiiciently salt; and they are brought up to 
Billingsgate as occasion requires. 

Boiled Cod. — If the fish is perfectly fresh, there is no way 
of preparing it so good as boiling. It is seldom that a 
whole cod has to be boiled, and it is almost impossible to do 
it successfully without dividing the tail part from the shoul- 
ders, and afterwards making a pretence of joining them on^ 
the dish. By the time the tail part is cooked, the upper 
part will be underdone. It is well that the fish submits 
nobly to the operation of being sliced. In this case choose 
the slices for boiling as near the shoulder as possible. The 
tail part is best fried. The boiling takes place in plain salt 
and water — nothing else. A whole cod will take half an 
hour to boil — slices from ten to fifteen minutes. When 
the cod is served it should be garnished with some of the 
liver; but this should be boiled separately, for the super- 
fluous oil escapes and would afiect the flavour of the cod. 
The sauces that may be served with it are oyster sauce, 
plain English sauce, egg sauce, mustard sauce, or simply 
oiled butter. Boiled cod is one of the few fish with which 
potatoes may be served as a garnish. 

CW« Head and Shoulders. — The Scotch way, described 
by Meg Pods : — " This was a great afiair in its day. It is 
still a formidable, nay, even a respectable-looking dish,, 
with a kind of bulky magnificence, which, at Christmas- 
tide, appears imposing at the head of a long board. Hav» 
a quart of good stock ready for the sauce, made of beef or 
veal, seasoned with onion, carrot, and turnip. Rub the fish 
(a deep-sea or rock cod) with salt over night, taking off 
the scales, but do not wash it. When to be dressed, wash 



r34 C^^ 

 .11   I ^1 

it dean, then quicklj dash hot water orer the upper side^ 
and with a blont knife remove the slime which will ooze 
oatj taking great care not to break the skin. Do the same 
to the other side of the fish ; then place it on the drainer, 
wipe it dean, and plonge it into a fish-kettle of boiling 
water, with a handful of salt and a half*pint of yinegar. It 
most be entirely covered, and will take from thirty to forty 
minutes' slow boiling. Set it to drain, slide it carefully on 
JBL deep dish, and glaze with beaten eggs, over which strew 
fine breadcrumbs, grated lemon-peel, pepper and salt. 
Stick numerous bits of butter over the fish, and place it 
before a clear fire, strewing more crumbs, grated lemon* 
peel, and minced parsley over it, and basting with the 
butter. In the meanwhile thicken the stock with butter 
kneaded in flour, and strain it, adding to it half a hundred 
oysters nicely picked and bearded, and a glassful of their 
liquor, two glasses of Madeira or sherry, the juice of a 
lemon, the hard meat of a boiled lobster cut down, and the 
soft part pounded. Simmer this sauce for five minutes, 
and skim it well ; wipe clean the edges of the dish in which 
the fish is crisping, and pour the half of the sauce around 
it, serving the rest in a tureen." It will be found, however, 
that French white wine is better for a fish sauce than sherry 
or Madeira. And the lobster added to the oysters is a 
superfluity. 

Baked Cod. — This in reality is but a variation of the 
foregoing, and is known in France as Cabillaud k la 
St Mdnehould. In the first place, the cod is stuffed with 
Forcemeat No. 5, commonly called veal stufiing, and sewed 
up ; the fish in its thick part being at the same time scored 
and slashed with a sharp knife. It is then placed on a 
baking dish ; half a pound of oiled butter is poured over 
it ; pepper and salt are sprinkled on it ; and it is put 
into the oven with some oyster liquor, which mingling with 
the oiled butter is to be used for frequent basting. It will 



Cod 135 

take an hour and a half to cook in this waj in a moderate 
OYen ; but when it is about half done it is to be dredged 
several times at intervals with fine raspings of breadcrust 
alternated with basting. The same sauce as for the fore- 
going, omitting the lobster. 

Fried Cod. — The middle or tail part cut in slices may be 
best done in this waj. When the French fry fish they 
dip it in milk and dredge it with flour. The English way 
is to smear it with egg and roll it in fine breadcrumbs 
mixed with a seasoning of pepper and salt — sometimes abo 
of minced herbs. Either way is good. 

Fried Cod d, la Dieppoise. — Dieppe is one of the chief 
fishing towns of Normandy, and gives its name to fried cod 
served with the relish of the Normandy matelote all round 
it. See Relish No. 7. 

Grilled Cod. — This was a favourite dish of the Duke of 
Wellington's. Slices of cod half an inch thick, dipped in 
oil or oiled butter, dredged with fiour, pepper and salt, and 
broiled over a clear fire. Serve them with a piece of mattre 
d'h6tel butter under each slice, and perhaps — with some 
maitre d'hdtel sauce in a boat apart. 

Cod d la Rdigieuee, — Take a small piece of cod and boil 
it, or use some cold cod. Break it into flakes and toss it 
in a stewpan with Bechamel, oyster or egg sauce. Garnish 
it when served with boiled parsnips. 

Cod with Cream au gratin, — The remains of turbot are 
most commonly served in this way, and the receipt will be 
found under the name of that fish. 

Salt Cod. — ^To be soaked for twelve hours at least ; to 
be put into the fish-kettle with plenty of cold water ; to be 
heated very slowly ; to be simmered but never boiled for 
close upon an hour ; to be skimmed very carefully from 
time to time ; to be garnished with parsnips, and to be 
served with egg sauce. 



136 Colberts Sole 



Brandade of Cod. — ^This is a more elaborate method of 
dressing salt fish. It is a Provencal dish, and is described 
under the name of Brandade. 

Colbert's Sole. — The great French minister who 
organised the financial system under which, to a very 
large extent, France still exists^ would seem to have a 
surer title to fame in the soup and the fish which he ad- 
mired than in all his toils of office. So it has been from 
time immemorial, to the frustration of human effort. A 
man's greatest works, in which he took pride, perish, and 
he lives by some trifle of which he thought nothing ; for 
the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong. 
What is great indeed and what is little we know not ; 
and time makes wonderful havoc in our estimate of magni- 
tudes. The sole of Colbert is now of a surety more to 
mankind than all his statesmanship. 

It is a fried sole, which after being cooked is boned and 
then filled with maitre d'h6tel butter and with lemon- 
juice. Trim the sole well, removing the head, a good part 
of the tail, and the black skin. On the side from which the 
skin has been removed make a slit down the backbone ; 
slide the knife in so as to sever as much as possible the 
flesh from the ribs, and with the handle of the knife break 
the backbone in several places, so as to render it easy of 
removal after the fish is cooked. The sole is then to be 
fried in the ordinary way ; when fried and drained the 
bones will come away without trouble ; the inside of the 
fish is to be filled with maitre d*h6tel butter into which 
lemon-juice has been worked ; and it is to be sent to table 
with slices of lemon and fried parsley. The sole of Colbert 
typified his taxes. He ate his fish without bones, and the 
Government devoured his taxes without a thought of the 
groans which had been wrung out of them. 

Colbert's Soup. — A clear broth or double broth with 
poached eggs in it. Sometimes a few of the more delicate 



Condi 137 

vegetables are added — as peas or asparagus points. The 
soup is named in honour of the same great French minister 
of finance who gave his name to the Sole it la Colbert^ just 
described. 

CoLiGNY. — The great Admiral. There truly was a man 
with an appetite. He ate his toothpicks : we are not told, 
however, what his toothpicks were composed of. There; 
was a time when they were made of fennel root and ap-' 
peared at table making porcupines of the preserved fruits. 
To eat fennel root was said to be good* for the sight. 

CoLLOP. — This word is too plain and too simple for 
cooks to use. They have transformed it into scollop. Let 
them read the Bible : it will do them good in many 
ways. Last and least, it will enlighten them as to the nature | 
of a coUop. (Job XV. 27.) 

Columbus. — To him the modem table owes more than 
to any other that can be named. The discovery of 
America has enriched our tables with the turkey, the 
canvas-backed duck, the potato, the tomato, cocoa, 
vanilla, the Jerusalem artichoke, the sugar-cane, red 
pepper, and a host of good things. Yet the master-cooks 
of Europe, who lavish their honours on nobodies and con- 
fuse their cookery books with a mob of ridiculous names, 
have not thought it worth their while to consecrate a single 
dish to his memory — not even the humble egg which he 
taught his friends to set on end. 

CoND^. — It is only necessary to note here that this is 
the fanciful name given to a soup and to a sweet. The 
soup is a purde of red haricot beans. The sweet is the 
combination of apricots with rice, more or less elaborated. 
There is no particular reason why we should cherish the 
name of Condd The name of Condi's castle, Chantilly, 
is given to Esau's pottage of lentils. It would be much 
better to call it Esau's soup. 



138 ConsommS 



Consohm:^. — This is a fine word, and worthy to rank 
with the "mobled queen" in Hamlet ''That's good," 
says Polonius ; '' mobled queen is good." So is consomme. 
To the innocent English mind it suggests something con- 
summate. It really means broth, which by boiling has 
been consumed away till it has become very strong. The 
best English rendering of it is Double Broth. It will be 
found further on, in the article on Soup, that though there 
might be many kinds of consomm^, there are in fact but 
two — ^namely, Consomm^ and Blonde de Veau. What is 
called Consomm^ de Yolaille is not distinctive enough to 
justify the new name. 

Coin'iSB. — ^There are words in the French kitchen 
which have a precarious existence in the dictionary, and 
this is one of them. Contiser means to inlay with truffles 
or tongue cut into nice shapes any kind of viands, but 
chiefly white meat, as the fillets of fowl. It comes from 
an old Proven9al verb, coinHr, to adorn. From this came 
a noun, cointise, adornment, which has budded forth into 
a second verb, cdntisery or as we have it now, contiser. 
The root of the word exists in English as quainty nice and 
neat, with a prim sort of elegance. So that contiser is in 
English to make quaint or neat looking. Cardme appears 
not to have liked the word, and fitncying that it had 
something to do with conte, a tale, invented histarier 
in place of it, which is very quaint indeed. A dish 
adorned with geometrical or other figures worked into 
or upon it by means of truffles, tongue, jelly, sugar^ or 
anything else^ was in his language — historied* 

Cook. — The truest alchymist and the best physician. 
M. Henrion de Pensey, formerly President of the Court 
of Cassation, made an observation worthy of a great 
judge : he made it to Laplace, the great astronomer. '^ I 
regard the discovery of a new dish as a far more interest- 
ing event than the discovery of a star, for we have always 



• 1 1 



Cauri- Bouillon 139 

stars enongh. I shall not regard the sdenoes as snfB- 
cientlj honoured nor appropriately represented among 
us, so long as I do not see a cook in the first class of 
l^e Institute." 

Cool. — The French say Rafraichir. To cool is to put 
vegetables in cold water after blanching them, in order to 
preserve their colour. One cools calf s head in the same 
way and for the same purpose, though without first scalding 
it. 

Corked Beef. — Many people ask, What is cotned as 
distinct from salt beef? It is the same thing. Salt is 
either coarse or fine. The small salt was said to be in 
powder — the French salmenu or salmine. The large salt 
with which beef was pickled was said to be in grains 
or corns — the French sausrenu. And hence the term 
corned. 

Cornwall. — It is said that the devil never goes to 
Cornwall, because they put everything into a pie there, 
and he is afraid of being put into one too. For the great 
Cornish pie see Irish Stew. 

Court-Bouillon; — This is a favourite terra of the 
French kitchen for which we have no corresponding term 
in EnglisL More than two hundred years ago an English 
000k tried to translate it, and he rendered it ahort broth ! 
(See a translation of La Yarenne^s "French Cook," 1653.) 
It would be better English after the analogy of small beer 
to say ^^ small broth." But anyway the phrase has an odd 
sound. It really means the thin liquor in which fish is 
boiled, made up of water, vinegar or white wine, which 
has been seasoned with pepper, salt, onions, carrots, and a 
faggot of herbs. But the term is by no means exact. 
There is a Court-Bouillon called aft;er the town of Nantes — 
k la Nantaise — which is half water, half milk, with pepper 
and salt. And often to cook fish in a Court-Bouillon means 



140 Crab 

no more than to cook it an bleti. If tihe reader will turn to 
see what is meant bj cooking fish in the blue^ he will find 
that it may mean nothing but -vinegar and water. For a 
fair example of Court-Bouillon^ see the Sole au Vin Blanc* 

Crab. — It is a wise provision of nature that crabs and 
lobsters should come into season when oysters and mussels 
go out. They are in perfection from April to October. 
There is a difference between the male and the female crab. 
The female has smaller claws and a wider flap of tail. 
Those who like the claws best, therefore, give their prefer- 
ence to the male. But the female makes up for the small- 
ness of her claws by the largeness of her liver and the 
creamy fat which surrounds it. The liver is the soft yellow 
substance which fills the body of the crab. Those who 
enjoy liver, therefore, prefer the female. 

Cold Crab. — Pick out all the meat from the claws and 
the breastplate, and shred it. Beserve a little of this, but 
mix the chief part of it with the liver and cream of the 
back, with vinegar, mustard, cayenne and salt Put it 
back in the shell — the substance of two crabs may indeed 
be heaped on one shell — and strew over it the meat of the 
claws which has been reserved. 

Hot Crab. — ^The same as the foregoing, only that bread- 
crumbs are added (one-fourth to three-fourths of crab) and 
with them little pieces of butter or else some oil. To be 
thoroughly heated in the oven. 

Crayfish. — There are two kinds so called : one huge, 
belonging to the sea ; the other small, belonging to rivers. 
The former, sometimes also called crawfish, and in French 
langouste, are larger and coarser than lobsters ; they are 
not prized in England ; but the French seem to cherish 
them and to prefer them, even to lobsters, though they 
lack the large claws which glorify the last No one ever 



Crayfish 141 

sees a salt-water crayfish at a first-dass London table ; but 
in Paris enter a shop like Chevet^s or a restaurant like 
Bignon's, and the horrible monster will be seen in the 
windows of the one or on the tables of the other, offered 
among the most tempting delicacies of the season. There 
is much more to be said for the French love of the river 
crayfish, which it would be much more accurate to call 
the river lobster. The crayfish of English rivers are 
not very abundant, and being rather small, are more for 
ornament than food. The best crayfish in London come 
in a curious roundabout way from Berlin. They are 
not to be found in London shops — and one has to send to 
Paris express for a hamper of two or three hundred, which 
wiU be delivered all alive. The French rivers are not equal 
to the demands of the Paris market. The German rivers 
are therefore laid under contribution, and 10,000 at a 
time are sent from Berlin. An immense number of the 
smaller crayfish are used in Paris for the mere decoration 
of dishes ; but apart from this use of them the crayfish are 
chiefly consumed in two ways. They are eaten bodily with 
a rich sauce which is described under the name of Bordeaux, 
the dish being known as Ecrevisses d la Bordelmse ; and 
they are worked into a soup which is commonly called 
Bisque (see that word), and which shall here be called more 
simply — 

Crayfish Soup, — Heat up to boiling point a plentiful 
Mirepoix of white wine, and cook two dozen crayfish in it 
for from twenty to twenty-five minutes, tossing them from 
time to time. When they are perfectly red take them off 
the fire and let them cool. Then shell them, all but the 
claws. The shells and the claws go into the mortar to 
make crayfish butter ; the flesh of the tails is reserved to 
be put into the soup at the last ; the body part goes back 
into the Mirepoix, to which two quarts of water (or broth) 
may now be added, together with four ounces of blanched 
rice. Li the meantime it is necessary to prepare the c^'ay- 



142 Cream 

fish batter. Remove the black eyes^ and pound shells and 
claws in a mortar with abont an ounce of butter. When 
thoroughly pounded they are to be added to the Mirepoiz, 
and all is to be simmered for an hour and a half^ after which 
it is to be passed through a sieve, heated up, and finished 
with a piece of butter. Add now the crayfish tails nicely 
trimmed and a pinch of cayenne pepper. Add also, it may 
be, quenelles of whiting prepared with some of the crayfish 
butter. ^ 

Creah. — There are so many things called cream that it 
is difficult to know what we are talking about when the 
name is mentioned. Almost anything with the consistence^ 
even without the colour, of cream, is called by its name ; 
and nobody seems to remember the rightful name of cnllis. 
Putting genuine cream, however, out of account^ the chief 
thing known in the French kitchen by that name is 
what in England is known as a custard. The most com- 
mon name in France for a custard is English cream ; and 
it was so called almost universally until Car^me put a stop 
to it. He was indignant that England should get the 
credit of the custard ; and now it is known by his foUowers 
simply as Cr^me au bain-marie. GarSme, however, who 
refused petulantly to give the name of Cr^e Anglaise to 
the custard, put a little bit of isinglass into it and then 
insisted that it should be called Cr^me Fran^aise I A bit 
of stiffening makes all the difference between French and 
English. There are dozens of these creams all with a 
separate name according to the flavour — vanilla, coffee, 
orange, maraschino, apricot ; and if whipt cream should 
be added, that makes another long series, each with a 
separate name. The receipt for Custards will be found in 
alphabetical order. 

Cb^cy — ^is the name which the French have given to 
their best carrot soup, because the most famous of their 



Cress 143 

carrots are grown there ; and the English accept the name 
because they like to remember the great battle of the 26tli 
Angnst, 1346, when they watered the carrots of Cr^cy 
with the best French blood. The French were to the 
English in the battle as five to one ; and it was on this 
occasion that the Black Prince, a boy of sixteen, won 
his spurs. To commemorate the event he took the crest of 
the slain Bohemian king — ^three ostrich feathers with the 
motto of Ich.Dien — which has ever since been the crest 
and the motto of the Princes of Wales. It follows that on 
the 26th of August the Prince of Wales and all his friends 
invariably eat two platefuls of Cr^cy. 

Take a plentiful Mirej^ix, and after it has passed, put 
a quantity of carrots cut slanting on the top of it. Moisten 
it with broth, and keep it moist and simmering till the 
carrots are done. The length of time will depend on the 
size to which the carrots have been cut. Then take all, 
pound it in a mortar, and pass it through a tammy or fine 
sieve. It ought to be at this stage a thick pur^. Thin it 
down with broth ; sugar it — the proportion is generally a 
tablespoonful of sugar to two gallons ; put it on the fire to 
heat ; finish it with some fresh butter ; and in serving it 
add either crusts or rice. 

Cr^pe. — The French for pancake, at root the same as 
crape and crisp. In the English of Chaucer's time a 
pancake was called a crisp or a cresp. 

Cr£pikxtte. — A fiat sausage enveloped in pig's caul. 
Buy it ready made at Dumas', 55, Prinoe's Street, 
Leicester Square. 

Ckess. — It is ungrateful to say a word against cresses, 
but it may be as well to remember that in England at 
least they have come to mean curses. '^ I don't care a 
curse " really means, " I don't care a cress." Perhaps we 
have too much of them. They are (putting asparagus out 



144 Croquettes 

of account, which h^s a short season and a dear price) 
the one vegetable eaten bj rich and poor in England, for 
health even more than for food. The Grreeks had a proverb 
— " Eat cress and gain wit" If this were only true, how 
clever must those good people be who are always eating 
cresses for breakfast I On the contrary, their lives are a 
stupid routine. In a stupid routine also live those French 
cooks who insist upon sending to table a bunch of cresses 
with roast fowl — even when there is a salad besides. 

To those who have a passion for watercresses, the 
Flemish soup of them wUl not be unpleasing. It is 
usually reserved for meagre days. Take a large bunch 
of cresses, wash them, cut them up, and set them to boil 
with water, salt, and it may be a thought of vinegar. Add 
to them a quantity of peeled potatoes of the mealy sort. 
When these have broken into a mash, the soup is ready, 
and may be finished with butter. 

Groquattes are made of chicken, game, sweetbreads, fat 
livers, oysters, shrimps — and generally the lighter kinds of 
meat The meat (most commonly chicken) is finely minced ; 
it is mixed with a seasoning of minced truffles, mushrooms, 
shalots or chives, as also of nutmeg, pepper and salt ; it is 
bound together with a stiff' Allemande sauce ; it is turned 
into shapes of cork or ball; it is dipped into egg and rolled 
in breadcrumbs ; it is fried crisp of a golden hue ; it is 
sprinkled with salt, and served on a napkin with a garnish 
of fried parsley. It is also served in a dish with a sur- 
rounding of tomato sauce. When the croquette is finished 
difierently — that is, when, instead of being dipped in egg 
and rolled in breadcrumb, it is wrapped in a thin puff paste, 
—it is called a Rissole ; and when it is wrapped in a thin 
sheet of veal udder or of bacon fat, it is called a Eromeski. 

Milanese Croquettes* — A mince of chicken, tongue, 
truffles, and macaroni, with a seasoning of grated Par- 
mesan. All the r«^ as before. 



Ctuumber 145 



Cro6te-au-pot. — A clear soup which may have nothing 
but crusts in it, but generally has an assortment of the 
more homely vegetables. See Brunoise. 

Crubt is a better word than the French vmaxgrette^ to 
express what the French mean by that term — ^a vinegar 
and oil sauce, in which the oil predominates. Cruet is a 
little cruise — it may be for oil or vinegar or anything ebe ; 
but to most English ears the word cruise will instantly 
suggest the widow's cruise of oil which was always full — 
and that is the sort of cruise most needed for the sauce 
which the French name Vinaigrette, Mix well in a bowl 
or saucer three tablespoonfuls of oil, not more than one of 
Yinegar — ^perhaps less, a pinch of salt, and a little pepper, 
black or white. We call this the French salad mixture, 
but it is much better known in connection with the Spanish 
proverb which says that we ought to be spendthrifts of the 
oil, misers of the vinegar, counsellors in regard to salt — and 
which is silent as to pepper. The Italians are so chary of 
salt fai this mixture that they have a proverb—" insalata 
ben salata." The worth of die sauce turns chiefly on the 
proportion of oil to vinegar, and this must depend a good 
deal on the nature of the vinegar selected — whether of 
malt, of wine or of tarragon. 

Judiciously made, the cruet sauce is delicious without 
any further addition, and goes magnificently with salmon 
hot or cold, turbot, calf s head, and other viands, as well as 
with salads. But it is usual to add a garniture. For salads 
the garniture is a chopped ravigote, or else spring onions 
and parsley chopped. For calf's head add mustard with 
a garniture of chopped parsley, capers, and shalots. For 
fish, chopped parsley. 

Cucumber — Raw. — The cucumber is peeled, sliced, and 
served in a cruet sauce. But on the Continent it is usual, 
before the sauce is poured on the slices, to sprinkle them 
well with salt, and to let them lie in this pickle for two 

10 



146 Cullis 

or three hours. This is supposed to render them more 
digestible ; and one rarely sees abroad the crisp, fresh-cnt 
cucumber common enough in England. 

Brown Cttcumber Garnish or Entremet, — The French call 
this the English fashion. The cucumbers are peeled, split 
into quarters, and freed from their pips ; they are next 
floured, peppered, and fried lightly in butter ; some broth 
or grayy is then added, and they are stewed slowly for 
twenty minutes. The sauce, thickened with flour and 
butter, and seasoned with salt, pepper and vinegar or 
lemon-juice, is to be poured over the pieces of cucumber 
when ihej are dished. 

White Cucumber Garnish or Entremet, — This is the 
French fashion — the cucumber being boiled till tender in 
salt and water, and served in a Bechamel or a plain 
English sauce. 

Cullis is a word which at root means something 
smoothly gliding. Thus the sliding scenes of a theatre, 
that slip along in grooves, are called coulisses; and a liquid 
which is thick enough and smooth enough to slide is called 
coulis in French, cullis in English. Spanish sauce is often 
described as a brown cullis ; and Velvet-down as a white 
one. The French also give the name of coulis to what 
they call otherwise English cream — that is, a custard. In 
England a cullis generally means a white cullis ; and a 
white cullis is any rich juice of meat which has been re- 
duced to a certain thickness without being in any way 
browned. A dissolved jelly is a cullis. UnhappUy the 
word is going out of use now, being replaced very much by 
the word cream, which has quite enough duty to perform 
in its own proper sense. We speak of a cr6me d'orge or 
barley cream, meaning a cullis of barley. 

CuRA^OA, as made at Amsterdam by Wynand Fockink, 
is certainly a liqueur of the first class. It is so perfect and 



Currants 147 



80 valuable that there are mai^"^ imitations of it: but all are 
far behind the great original, which is made from the peel 
of an orange very difficult to obtain. It is a bitter orange 
which grows in ihe island of Cura^oa, and falls, from the 
tree before it is ripe. The peel of this is dried^ and is 
known in commerce as the Coragoa of Holland, to dis tin 
gaish it from other Caracas which have not the same 
property, though they are often sold in place of it The 
Dutch distillers naturally keep their process a secret, but 
the French ones declare the Dutch secret to be simply 
this — that five kilogrammes of dried peel of the Oura^oa of 
Holland, and the zests of eighty fresh oranges are sub- 
mitted to the action of sixty litres, of very strong alcohol 
(85^, French measurement); and that there is no real 
difference between white cura^oa and brown^ 

Currants — properly, Corinths. — These are a small 
stoneless grape, which now come chiefly from Zante, but 
originally from Corinth, whence the name. There are 
more of these currants used in England than in all the 
world 1 esides. It is a question whether the English par- 
tiality for them is reasonable, for they are very indigestible, 
though cheap and in moderation pleasant. The Zantiotes 
scarcely understand what we do with them — they fancy we 
must use them for a dye ; and they tread them in barrels 
with their feet so hard, that sometimes the mass of currants 
can only be broken with a mattock. No doubt the feet of 
these illustrious Greeks enhance the relish of the fruit, and 
add an unsuspected joy to our puddings and cakes. 

Currants — properly, Currans. — We are now speaking 
of the berry which botanists caU Ribes, and which is known 
in England in three leading families — the gooseberry, red 
and green ; the red currant with a white variety ; and the 
black currant : the first being large and prickly, the other 
two small and smooth. They are said to derive their name 
from their resemblance to the currants of the Levant ; but 



148 Currants 

this is a mistake which is the more provoking because it 
has led to a theory that these currants, having a foreio^ 
name, cannot be natives of the British soil. It is quite 
well known that they are indigenous in these islands ; and 
we must therefore look out for an indigenous name. Now, 
it is remarkable that most of the old writers, and good ones 
too, when they speak of currants, write currans. English 
custom evidently taught them to drop the t when speaking 
of the familiar currant-bush. We are confirmed in this 
view when we discover that in our proviacial dialects the 
name for a gooseberry is carberry ; we are settled in this 
view if we remember that belonging to a different family 
there is the cranberry, and if we know why it is so called. 
The dictionaries declare that it is called after the crane, 
^^ because its slender stalk has been compared to the long 
legs and neck of a crane." It is really so called because 
cran means red, and it has nothing whatever to do with 
the crane, unless that bird is so called from its red eyes. 
There is a flower called crapesbill, which has just as much 
to do with the crane, though we are told that it has an 
appendage to the seed-vessel whicb resembles the beak of 
a crane or stork. The word is really a corruption of cran- 
\ell — a red bell as distinct from a blue belL Those who 
take an interest in the herring fishery may have read of 
boats catching so many crans of fish. These are baskets 
of the red osier. We find the root car^ red, spreading 
far away through many European languages — ^in Greek, 
in Latin and its later dialects, in Graelic, in Welsh, in Old 
German, and in Old English. We have it in the first 
syllables of carnation (flesh colour), carmine, crimson, 
cramoisie, carrot — which in Gaelic is curran^ cargoose — ^an 
old name for the grebe which has a chestnut-red kind of 
head, a brown-red back and red eyes — carbon, carbuncle, 
char (the verb — to burn), char, the fish which has a red 
belly, and I will add cherry, in spite of the etymdogists, 
who go to some long-forgotten place; Eerasos in Asia 



Curry 149 

Minor, for the name of this xuddj fruit The list might 
be multiplied — I have said nothing of coral or crocus — 
but examples enough have been given, to enable the 
reader to return with his eyes open to the gelling of the 
currant — curran, and to the provincial English name of 
the gooseberry — the carberry. It ought to be clear that 
in the olden time the currant and the cranberry were 
both called by the same name or names,, as similar as 
dialectical varieties permit — the red berry, and that the 
term red curran is a reduplication— the red red.. 

AU this about words — in order to. prove that the British 
currant has a British name, however much it may be 
twisted about. As for the currant itself there is little to 
be said. Its praise is in all our mouths. The gooseberry 
or carberry shall have a paragraph to itself. The black 
currant has little to do with cookery, except as the faithful 
attendant of Holy Poly, but its grandest title to fame is 
trumpeted forth under the name of Cassis. For the red 
currant let the roast mutton, hare>.and venison, prove how 
much it is in demand. 

Curry. — There are few dishes which it- is so difficult to 
get well done as a curry. In France, under the name of 
Kari, it is always bad. In England the vulgar theory is 
that, with the addition of some curry-powder, any good stew 
becomes a good curry. It is a great mistake. First of 
all, a curry differs from other stews in being always eaten 
with a dessert-spoon and fork — never, when rightly under* 
stood, with a knife and fork. This implies that it is exceed- 
ingly well done, and is cut or shred small. Secoedly, it 
has no other accompaniment than the rice. Curry is never 
to be eaten at a house where the host offers you a potato 
with the rice. It is a sign that there is no garnish in his 
curry-^no onions, no apples, no cocoanut r else he would 
not overlay all these with potatoes in addition to rice. On^ 
the difficulty of procuring a good curry-powd^r it is useless 



1 5d Curry 

to insist — indeed, few people see the difBculiy. There are 
good cnrrj-powders at the shops, and that is enough for 
them. They have not grasped the fact that curry-powder 
is like salad dressing — a compound ; and that as in the 
salad dressing some people like plenty of vinegar and little 
oil, while others wish for plenty of oil and very little vinegar, 
«o in the curry-powder there are ingredients which should 
; be increased or decreased to suit different tastes, and to 
\ combine with the different meats which are to be curried. 
' All over India there is a curry for almost every province : 
at Madras one kind of curry; in Bengal another. In 
Ceylon they would never dream of taking, curry-powder 
out of a bottle. The curry mixture is there made fresh on 
the day it is to be oised in cooking ; and it consists of a 
piece of green ginger, a few coriander and cumin seeds, 
two cloves of garlic, six small onions, one chili, eight 
peppercorns, a small piece of turmeric, a teaspoonful of 
butter^ half a cocoanut, and half a lime. In England, the 
ginger of this receipt, the coriander and cumin seeds, the 
chili and the turmeric, are powdered, and sold in bottles 
under the name of curry-powder ; and this is supposed to 
be all that is wanted — the English cook^ for the most part, 
ignoring the garlic and onion, the cocoanut and the lime ; 
and expecting that, if any other flavour is needed, it will 
be supplied at table from the bottle of Bengal Chutney. 
Supposing a good powder is at hand — say Halford's — ^it is 
to be used in the following manner, which is a modification 
of a well-known receipt. 

Take the white heart of a cabbage or a lettuce peeled 
down to the size of an egg ; chop it fine, and add to it two 
apples in thin slices^ the juice of a lemon, a saltspoonful of 
black pepper^and a tablespoonful of currj'-powder — to be all 
well mixed together. Then take six onions that have been 
chopped fine and fried brown, a clove of garlic minced 
small, two ounces of fresh butter, two of flour, and one pint 
of beef gravy; boil them up, and when boiling add to them 



Custards 



151 



the other set of ingredients containing the acids and spices. 
Let all be well stewed, and then add to it — cut or sh''^'^. — 
the fish, flesh, or fowl for which this savoury mess has been 
prepared. Serve it with abundance of rice — every grain 
of which should be separate. It is the rice in this combina- 
tion that is the great attraction for many people. But in 
following this receipt the cook must use some discretion; 
first in regard to the acids, second in regard to the onions. 
One apple may contain as much acid as two ; and onions 
are of all sizes. So that here the receipt is very indefinite, 
and the cook has to be cautious. 

Custards. — These have been known for some time on 
the Continent as English creams ; but latterly simply as 
creams — vanilla cream, lemon cream, chocolate cream, 
according to the flavour. One receipt will be enough. 

Lemon Custard. — Beat up the yolks of eight eggs to 
a strong white cream. Mix into this very slowly a pint of 
boiling hot cream, together with the zest and juice of two 
lemons, and sugar to taste. Stir this on the fire till it 
thickens — ^but do not boil it. Add also, when nearly ready, 
a wineglassful of sherry and a tablespoonful of brandy. 
Keep stirring it till it cools, and serve it in cups with grated 
nutmeg. 

A wonderful flavour is given to these creams or custards 
by boiling in the cream or milk with which they are made 
a laurel-leaf — that is, not a bayleaf, but a leaf of the 
cherry laurel. Great care, however, must be used ; for ^ 
the cherry laurel is poisonous. 



1^2 Dad 




IJAB. — Who ever heard of dab at a fashionable 
dinner or in a fine bill of fare ? Nevertheless 
a dab — the French limande — ^is better than 
any flounder ; and as Mr. Bugg changed his 
name to Norfolk Howard, the poor little dab aspires to 
fame under the name of a Thames flounder, which is 
the best of all flounders. Let us give dab his due. Hjs 
name is as plebeian as Snooks or Blogg ; but he is an 
honest fish, with a good taste and a faculty of making 
himself agreeable in society which his friends with great 
names might well envy. 

Damson, the small plum of Damascus, to be used in 

the ordinary way for fruit pies, with no end of sugar. 

Take it for praise, or take it for blame, the damson has 

a tart resemblance to "the perfect woman'* described by 

the poet as — 

not too good 
For htunan nature's daily food. 

Dantzic. — Not much of a town for beauty, but it has 
one great title to fame in the world of art : it has pro- 
duced the liqueur which is the most beautiful of all to look 
at — gold-water, a bright colourless liquid like water, with 
chips of gold-leaf floating in it. Unfortunately, as made 
in Dantzic this beautiful drink is somewhat fiery, and 
ladies^ who in general love the liqueurs, rarely touch it, 
preferring the sweeter and softer imitations made in 
Amsterdam and elsewhere. The fact is, that though the 
liqueur is nearly always to-day associated with the name of 
Dantzic, it is of Italian origin, and is perhaps the oldest 
extant liqueur in Europe, The Italians brought it into 
France in the time of Catherine de Medici. See Acqua 
d'Oro. 

1 Dariole is one of the most interesting words in the 



Dariole 153 

Snglish language, and it is a pitj to see it going out 
of use because it is not understood. It is much more 
used in France than in England, but the French authori- 
ties declare that it is a perfect mystery to them — its origin 
utterly unknown. In England it seems to be regarded as 
a new-fangled French name for a cheesecake, and too 
foreign as well as too new for common use. It is in fact 
one of the oldest words in the English language, and is 
frequently to be found in the cookery books of Chaucer's 
time. It means as nearly as possible a maid of honour ; 
and it is curious to imagine how the word dariole should 
survive for more than five centuries in a kind of lost 
language, its meaning unknown, and how it should turn 
up on Richmond Hill correctly translated into maid of 
honour. The clue to the meaning of the word is given by 
Junius under the word dairy, the fii*st syllable of which he 
declares to be identical with the first syllable of Dariole. 
Now we get puzzled, and have to ask, What is the first 
syllable, and how dp we account for the succeeding ones ? 
All the information given by Junius is that a dairy means 
a milk-house, and that a dariole means something made of 
milk. There we are left hanging in the air, and have to 
find solid earth for ourselves. 

It is well known that in the West of England a dairy 
is or was till lately called a dey-house ; and it has been 
supposed that dey must mean milk. Even those who see 
in the word a diftisrent meaning — ^namely, maid — confess 
that through some links which have not clearly been 
traced out it may have some connection with Swedish 
and Danish words which mean suckling, as well as with 
the English diig which yields the milk. That however 
is obscure, and we may dismiss it to dwell upon what is 
clear. 

We are dealing with one of the most venerable words 
in human speech, which hasr been singularly preserved in 
languages far apart. The English ch^d bom in India ha^ 



154 DarioU 

a nurse called a da'L Some who read this page may 
' remember Mrs. Sherwood's nursery tale of Lucy and her 
Daye> If any one will look into Shakespear's Hindustani 
dictionary he will see that while in one dialect this word 
means a nursemaid^ in another it means more generally a 
maidservant. In the Northern dialects of Europe — ^in 
Swedish^ in Danish, in Icelandic — it will be found that the 
cognate word means sometimes generally a maid, some- 
times more particularly a milkmaid or a nursemaid. In 
the Scotch dialect a dey is a milkmaid. In old English 
the word meant either a maid or a milkmaid. In the 
wide sense of maid or woman it remains to this hour 
in the second syllable of la-dy — the bread-maid. How 
the same word should mean properly a maid, and yet in 
some cases should be applied particularly now to a milk- 
maid and now to a nurse, will be apparent in the history 
of another word — say groom, which means a young man, 
a lad, and is recognised as such in bridegroom, but which 
is also applied specially to a stablcrlad, on board ship 
to a cabin-boy (grommet), and in French to a wine- 
merchant's man (gourmet). A dairy or deyry is the place 
for the deys Or maids, as faery is the place of the fays and 
eyrie is the nest for the eggs. 

Let us now return to Dariole, which Junius identifies 
with dairy, and declares to mean something made of milk — 
laitiron. As a matter of fact it is made of milk — it is a 
cheesecake ; but this is not necessarily expressed in the 
word. The root is da or dey, a maid — the final syllable 
'of lady. And what is the rest of the word? The old 
spelling is Daryol or Daryal, and it means Da-royal, a 
maid of honour. If any one should be surprised at the 
application in those early times of so fanciful a name to a 
cheesecake, he has only to look into any cookery book of 
the period — ^that of Chaucer — and he will find in close 
proximity to Maids of honour, a Douce ftme^ which is after 
ail but a stewed fowl 



r 



Darioie 155 

There ifl a curions fact aboat this wotd which has yet 
to be explained, and which raises it into something like a 
literary landmark. The French have a word Dariolette, 
the name for a lady's maid, and they profess to derive it 
from the lady's maid of the Princess Elisene in the 
romance of Amadis of Gaul, who was called Daiiolette. 
Now this romance, which was spared from the flames by 
the Ucentiate in Don Quiaote, is generally considered as of 
either Spanish or Portuguese origin. Souiliey insists on the 
Portuguese knight Vasco Lobeira, who died 1403, being 
its author. How came from the pen of a Portuguese 
writer the Anglo-Norman word Dariolette? A French 
writer, the Comte de Tressan, has attempted to prove that 
the romance was originally written in French, that it was 
translated from the French into Portuguese, and thence 
into Castilian, in which language we have the oldest 
version that remains to us. He has not proved his point, 
and Southey ridicules his theory. It is quite certain that 
the Comte de Tressan attempted to prove too much ; but, 
on the other hand, permit us to quote from what we have 
written elsewhere. '^Southey has not allowed weight 
enough to the fact that the Amadis of Gaul is the first 
work of romance which appeared in the Portuguese and 
Castilian languages ; that it was preceded for more than 
a century by odier romances of Anglo-Norman origin ; 
and that in its idea, in the character of its incidents, and in 
much of its geography, it belongs to the world of Anglo* 
Norman romance. What though we cannot lay our hands 
on the French original from which Lobeiia translated, any 
more than we can lay our hands on Lobeira's own work 
from which the Castilian version has been made ? We still 
know that all the ideas and materials, all the design, all 
the machinery of Amadis of Gaul, belong to the Anglo- 
Norman cycle of romance which was in vogue before 
Lobeira was bom." To this it is now to be added, that 
here is the name Darioleta of the Castilian or Portuguese 



156 



Dauphiness 



y:)-^ 



romance, borrowed directly from ihe Anglo-Norman dialect 
to be the proper name for the Princess Elisene's maid of 
hononr. 

The old receipt for the Dariole is as follows. It bears 
the date of 1381. All the words are given here in 
modern spelling. "Take cream of almonds or of cow- 
milk, and beat them well together; and make small 
coffins [that is, cases of pastry], and do it [put it] therein ; 
and do [put] thereto sugar and good powders. Or take 
good fat cheese and eggs and make them of divers colours, 
green, red or yellow, and bake them or serve them forth." 

Modern receipt — Put into a spouted basin two table- 
spoonfuls of flour, two of sifted sugar, one-and-a-half of 
melted butter, one whole egg, three yolks of eggs, a pinch 
of salt, and whatever flavouring, of almonds or lemons, 
orange, vanilla or cofiee, may be likei best. Mix these 
well together and then add to them a tumblerful of cream. 
When the batter is ready pour it into pattypans which 
have been lined with light pufi* paste, and top them with 
candied orange*flowers ; place the pattypans upon a 
baking-sheet and set them in a quiet oven. When the 
darioles are ready they are lightly strewed with sugar and 
served hot. 

There is an immense consumption of these in Paris. In 
1856 there were 128 darioleurs and darioleuses — that is, 
makers of darioles, who hawked them about, using up 
annually 3,000,000 lbs. of flour. 

Dauphiness — Beignets d la Dauphine. This is a French 
name given to a German invention, — the Dauphiness being 
Marie Antoinette. Throughout Germany they are known 
as Berliner Pfannkuchen ; throughout Austria as Wiener 
Krapfan, In plain English they are Brioche Fritters, and 
will be found among the Fritters, No. 6. 

Devonshire — famous for its butter, ita cream, its cider, 
and its pie. The butter is the best English butter that cornea 



Devils 157 

into London; but it is not so good as that of Brittany, 
Normandy, and Ostend. The clubs are chiefly supplied with 
Ostend butter. The cream, called clotted cream, is the 
richest cream there is, short of butter. New milk is strained 
into shallow metal pans, which after standing for twelve 
hours are passed on to a hot plate with a fire below, to heat 
the milk to scalding without boiling or eveir simmering it 
The pans are then carried back to the dairy, allowed to 
stand for another twelve hours, and the cream is drained 
off. This is Devonshire or clotted cream. Devonshire 
cider is simply the finest in the world. Devonshire pie, 
called also Squab pie, is made of Devonshire apples and of 
Devonshire (that is Dartmoor) mutton, or else of pork. 
See Irish Stew. 

Devils. — It is the great fault of all devilry that it knows 
no bounds. A moderate devil is almost a contradiction 
in terms; and yet it is quite certain that if a devil is not 
moderate he destroys the palate, and ought to have no 
place in cookery, the business of which is to tickle, not 
to annihilate, the sense of taste. Devils are of two kinds 
— the dry and the wet. The dry devil is a Carbonade, 
scored, peppered, salted, mustarded or otherwise spiced ; 
the wet devil is a Bernardino Salmi. See Salmi. 

Sauce d la Diable. — The French cooks' idea of the devil 
is that he has a passion for shalots. Mr. Masson has 
written an essay on the Three Devils — namely, Luther's, 
Milton's, and Goethe's. There is room for yet another 
essay, yea, a volume, on the Frenchman's idea of the devil, 
much given to the onions of Ascalon. Take three or four 
shalots, and mince them well with a clove of garlic, a faggot 
of sweet-herbs, and as much pepper as may be dared ; 
simmer all for half an hour in brown sauce and red wine, 
pass it through a tammy, and know of a surety that ttis 
will much rejoice all French devils. 



158 Dih 

Dill is a plant which, like anise, caraway and coriander, 
was supposed to be a good stomachic. Dill- water is still 
to be found among the botdes of the apothecary. It was 
also, like fennel, a good deal used in soups and sauces. 
That we should now make very little use of it in the 
kitchen is probably no great loss to us ; but it is certain! j 
a mystery. It is impossible to tell many a time how repu- 
tations grow and how they pass away. By all the rules of 
human conduct dill ought to be the most prized herb in 
the English kitchen garden ; and yet it is of the smallest 
account. William the Conqueror had a cook named 
Tezelin, who one day served him with a white soup called 
dillegrout. The monarch was so pleased with its exquisite 
flavour that he sent for the cook and made him for his 
dill soup Lord of the Manor of Addington. When a great 
work of art is thus rewarded we might expect that the 
fame of it would live for ever, that all the cooks of England 
would bear it in mind, and that it would still be fashion- 
able. But such is the caprice of fame and fortune, there 
is probably not a living creature in England who has ever 
tasted dill b-^oth, and the name of Tezelin is known but to 
a very few. There are monuments in Westminster Abbey 
to heroes who have achieved less than the Lord of the 
Manor of Addington. 

Dinner. — There are two theories as to what this means. 
The first maintains that dinner is to d^jedner what priest is 
to presbyter ; and we all know by this time that presbyter 
is but priest writ large. Dinner, therefore, according to 
this view is breakfast. 

The other theory is that it is a contraction for dixiime 
heure, ten o'clock, the ancient time of dining. There is 
an old French rhyme to this effect : — 

Lever & six, diner & dix, 
Souper ^ six, coucher & dix, 
YouB feront vivre dix fois dix. 

It is evident that we are fast returning to the ancient 



^o^y 159 

dinner-hour. A fashionable dinner is at foil tide not far 
from ten o'clock — only it is now ten at night instead of, as 
formerly, ten in the morning. 

DoRT. — This is a fish regarded by many as the most 
delicious of all. Thei ancients named him after the king of 
gods — Zeus. The modems have honoured him with the 
patronage of no less than three saints — Peter, Christo- 
pher and Martin. St. Peter found the tribute-money in a 
dory, and left thumb-marks upon him for ever afterwards; 
so ^at he is known to be the fish of St. Peter, who as the 
gate-keeper of heaven — ^in Italian janitore — ^provided for 
him the name which has been corrupted into John Dory. 
Other learned authorities deny that the dory exists in the 
fresh-water lake of Gklilee, and maintain that the marks 
upon his body came from the fingers of St. Christopher, 
who took hold of the fish in order to amuse the infant 
Jesus when he was carrying Him upon his shoulders 
across the sea. And others yet again declare that the 
dory is best appropriated to St. Martin, because although 
he is good at all seasons he is most perfect at Martinmas. 
Anyhow, we have a good excuse for making acquaintance 
with the fish on the days of all three saints. His name 
comes really from the colour of his skin, which is dor^e or 
gilded ; and we may be grateful in the knowledge that 
the best dorys in the world are caught upon our southern 
shores, ofi* Plymouth and ofi* Brighton. 

Clear away his excessive finery of fins ; fill him with 
veal stuffing or oyster stuffing, boil him in salt and 
water, and serve him with nut-brown butter, English 
sauce or Holland sauce. Quin, the actor, was a great 
lover of this fish, and would travel to Devonshire expressly 
to eat him. He insisted that the fish should be boiled in 
sea-water and that the best sauce was one which brought 
Miss Ann Chovy into union with Mr. John Dory. John 
is at his best from September to January. 



1 6o Duck 

Duck, — The French notion of the tame duck is perfectly 
given by Grimod de la Reynifere. "He appears rarely 
in a roast at refined tables. His modesty adapts itself 
better to a couch of turnips after he has been cooked in 
a succulent braze." The general order is, that the wild 
duck is to be roasted ; the tame duck or duckling either 
stewed or brazed. K ever the latter is allowed the honours 
of the spit, he must be barded. In England the duck 
brazed in turnips is rarely seen, and the roast duck or 
duckling is in great favour. 

Moast Ihtck or Duckling. — ^A duck should always be 
stuffed ; a duckling may or may not. The stuffing is the 
same as for geese, and will be found among the force- 
meats. Also duck or duckling should be well done. Per- 
haps one of the reasons for the dissatisfaction which the roast 
duck gives in France is that it is roasted, if roasted at all, 
like the wild duck — very much underdone. G-ouflG^ allows 
only sixteen minutes for roasting a duck. A duckling wiQ 
take at least half an hour of a brisk fire ; a duck perhaps 
an hour. When the time comes for serving these birds, let 
them have a good brown gravy not upon them but around 
them, and in a boat apart ; or else one made from their 
necks, gizzards and livers stewed down with some browned 
onions, sweet-herbs and spice. The most common vegetable 
garnish is green peas or sometimes cresses ; but try also 
cooked endive or celery, turnips browned in butter, and 
almost any kind of salad. As for potatoes with duck — never. 
Brazed Duck. — The name is given not merely to duck 
brazed in the ordinary way, but to any arrangement by 
which it may be both stewed and roasted, which is the 
object of brazing. Let the duck be half roasted and 
then stewed ; or let it be baked slowly in a stewpan and 
two or three ounces of butter till it is well browned, and 
then let it be stewed. This last is the simplest of the 
methods. Between the baking and the stewing, dredge 
in two tablespoonfuls of flour^ and stir it until well mixed 



Dutch 1 6 1 

with the batter. Then pour in with salt, pepper, and 
a faggot of pot-herbs, stock enough to cover tiie duck; let 
it boil up, let it be skimmed, and let it simmer slowly 
for three-quarters of an hour. Twenty or twenty-five 
minutes before the duck is ready, turnips are to be put 
in with it, which have been cut to shapes and browned in 
butter. At last strain the sauce, remove the grease, see that 
the seasoning is right, and if the sauce should be too thin, 
boil it down. Send the duck to table with the turnips. 
This combination of duck and turnip is supposed in France 
to belong as surely to the eternal fitness of things as in 
England it is held tliat the pre-established harmonies of the 
universe reach their acme in roast duck and green peas. 

There is an immense deal of nonsense talked, chiefly 
in France, about the superlative qualities of the Rouen 
duck — as if Bouea meant the place. It is a corruption 
of roan ; and the Boan duck is simply the tame duck 
which has preserved the ruddy plumage of the wild one. 
The French in a fine burst of patriotism vow that all 
the ducks of empurpled hue come from Rouen. 

Dumplings. — Half a pound of beef fat finely chopped ; 
half a pound of flour ; half a pound of breadcrumbs, three 
eggs, a tumblerful of milk, with salt and pimento are to be 
mixed well together^ divided into balls the size of a turkey's 
egg, tied in cloths, and boiled three-quarters of an hour. 

Norfolk Dumplings. — A tumbler of milk, three eggs, 
salt, and as much flour as will make a stiff batter. Drop 
the batter in spoonfuls into boiling water, and let them 
boil for ten minutes. 

Fruit Dumplings. — Fruit enveloped in paste No. 4. Line 
a basin with the paste, put in the fruit, cover it over, tie 
it in a cloth, and boil it for a couple of hours. 

Dutch schools of painting and of cooker}" have been 
fond of the sea and of fish, l^eir fish sauce is pre-eminent 

11 



1 6 2 Duxelles 



in Europe, producing so much goodness of result by sueli 
simplicity of means, that it is perhaps the most usefol 
of all the sauces. Fray always bear in mind the precise 
difference between the Dutch or Holland and the English 
sauce. Whereas the English use flour to make the vehicle 
of their melted butter, the Dutch uise yolk of egg ; in the 
one no egg, in the other no flour. 

Dutch or Holland Sauce — Sauce Hollaudaise. — Heat 
to the boiling point two tablespoonfuls of water with 
pepper, nutmeg and salt. Stir well into this two yolks 
of eggs, but do not let it boil again. Melt gradually 
into it four ounces of fresh butter with a whisk. It ought 
to be a smooth, thick cream, and should be finished w^ith 
lemon-juice. It is an admirable sauce for fish, but when 
served with vegetables (as asparagus, artichoke, cauli- 
flower), it is usual to increase the quantity of acid. 

An easier way for beginners. — Put all the above-named 
ingredients together into a saucepan, which is to be placed 
in a second saucepan half filled with cold water. Put it on 
a moderate fire, stirring the inner saucepan continually. As 
soon as the water in the outer one boils the sauce is ready. 

DuxELLES is the name given to a combination of mush- 
rooms, parsley, and shalots, which are chopped together 
finely and used for flavouring. It is convenient to have 
a short name by which to refer to such combinations. 
Others of the same order will be found, along with Duxelles, 
in the arti^'le on Faggots. But as Duxelles is to most 
persons a Wv/rd perfectly unintelligible — Beauvilliers wrote 
it Ducelle, Viard Durcelle — it has been proposed by the 
later authorities, Dubois, Bernard and Gouff^, to change 
the name to that of Fine Herbs, which is even more 
objectionable, as expressing too much. The mushroom is, 
strictly speaking, a herb, but it would not obviously be 
understood as such ; and the mushroom is the central 
figure of the Duxelles. Then, again, the epithet of fine. 



Duxelles 1 63 



which has reference not to flavour, but to the mincing, can 
scarcely be claimed for the Duxelles as against other 
faggots — the Rayigote, for example. The name of Duxelles 
will probably hold, because it commemorates, though 
indirectly, the name of the artist who first brought the 
combination into prominence. La Varenne was the firsts 
great French cook of modem times ; and his cookery 
book, published in Paris about 1650, may be described as, 
on paper at least, the starting-point of modem cookery. 
He was lord of the kitchen of the Marquis d'Uxelles ; and 
he describes himself on the title-page of his book as 
"Escuyer de Cnislne de M. le Marquis d'Uxelles.'* It 
was not he, however, who gave the name of Duxelles to 
his mushrooms : he called them Champignons & Tolivier. 
What is the meaning of this name is not quite clear, but 
the successors of La Yarenne brushed it aside, and adopted 
Duxelles instead, which did at least this much honour to 
La Yarenne — that it connected the mushroom alliance 
which he favoured with the kitchen where it originated. 

The original receipt for the Mushrooms & I'olivier is 
worth quoting, for it will serve to show how the more 
recent Duxelles differs from it. '^ Cut them (that is, the 
mushrooms) in quarters, and wash them in several waters. 
Place them between two plates, with an onion and salt^ 
and then upon the chafing-dish that they may get rid of 
their moisture. Press them between two plates. Then 
take fresh butter with parsley and cibol, and fry (fricassez) 
them. After that, set them to stew, and when they are 
well done, you may add cream to them or blancmanger." 

In the course of time this receipt became developed 
into what is now known as Duxelles — which is composed 
of equal weights of mushrooms, parsley and shalots. 
These are chopped very fine, and fried for five minutes in 
a saucepan, with rasped bacon, pepper and salt. That 
is the receipt of Beauvilliers, and it has been followed ever 
since, though one may have leave to doubt whether it 



1 64 Eel 

is altogether satisfactory. The parsley and the shalots, 
being each of equal weight with the mushrooms^ OTerlay 
them and rob them of the importance which La Yarenne 
gave to them. The mushrooms become still Airther dwarfed 
in the composition if an equal weight of truffles or truffle 
trimmings should be added. It would be much better in 
taste^ and more respectful to La Yarenne, to reduce the 
quantity of parsley and shalots. 

Dtueelles Sauce is made by adding Duxelles to about 
six times as much of Brown or Spanish sauce, and letting 
it simmer for a little. In the receipt of Beauvilliers the 
smce is finished with yolks of eggs well beaten, but not 
allowed to boil, and with lemon. These additions are not 
necessary, and tend to load the sauce. 




[EL.—*' The eeV says Badham, " is found in the 
East and West Indies, wriggling under the ice 
of Greenland, and winding his way without let 
or hindrance through the very heart of the 
Celestial Empire : enjoying every temperate latitude, and 
ubiquitous over the globe as man himself. The all but 
universal spread of this species makes its absence from 
some waters the more remarkable and difficult to ex- 
plain. Sometimes physical obstructions seem sufficient 
to account for this, — as for instance for its absence 
from the lake of Geneva, there being no inlet hither- 
ward up the Rhine : but neither is it found in the 
Danube, where no such difficulty occurs, and into which, 
had eels the will, they might easily like other fish find a 
way." But eels are mysterious in their ways ; and how 
little we know of them may be gathered from a single 
fact — that far and wide as they are spread, and long as they 
have been loved by the races of mankind, we know next 
to nothing of their matrimonial rrangements and their 



Eel 1 65 

manner of birth. If thepe are births and marriages among 
them, thej certainly take care not to announce it in the 
newspapers. No male, no female has ever been found 
in roe. All we know is that there happens to be an 
everlasting supply of infimt eels ; that the full-grown eels 
have a suspicious way of not being very well in the months 
of April, May^ and June ; and that ever since the time of 
Aristotle they have been observed to be pushing their 
snouts up the rivers in spring and downwards in autumn. 
Never has a secret been so well kept ; never have clandestine 
marriages been so successful. 

The London market is chiefly supplied with eels from 
Holland ; but there are none so good as those caught in 
the Thames^ which are the most silvery of all. There are 
four kinds : the snig, the grig, the broad-nosed and the 
sharp-nosed. The broad-nosed are the darkest and least 
valued ; the sharp-nosed are the brightest and best ; and 
those caught in the Thames, besides being remarkable for 
their silvery appearance, surpass the Dutch eels in sweetness 
of taste. 

Skinning eels alive is a needless barbarity. Kill the 
eel by piercing the spinal marrow just behind the head 
with a skewer ; but take care not to cut off the head, or 
the eel will wriggle as if it were alive. 

When a fish is naturally rich the simplest way of cooking 
it ought always to be the Best. There are excellent judges 
who prefer the eel plain-boiled in salt and water, sprinkled 
in the dish with parsley and sage, and served with English 
butter-sauce, sharpened with lemon-juice. Some, indeed, 
enjoy it waterzootje. Strange to say, however, this very 
rich fish is most appreciated when it is most disguised. 
Take for example 

Collared Eels, — This is the most approved method of 
boiling the eel, if he is to be boiled at all. Skin, split 
and bone a large Thames eel. Season it well, by rubbing 
it with chopped parsley, sage, a sprig of lemon-thyme, and 



1 66 Eel 

mixed spices finely pounded. Boll it up, collar it with 
tape, and boil it in salt and water. Serve it with a sharp 
sauce — or say English sauce with plenty of lemon-juice. 

Spitclicoch — The name for a broiled eel ; though it 
might be applied to anything else done in the same way. 
The word is so corrupt that it has come to be used 
ignorantly. It is a corruption of spitstuck, and is equi- 
valent to the French en brochette. Anything done en 
brochette, or on a skewer, might be called spitstuck or 
spitchcock. It is really broiled; and the following is the 
receipt for broiled eels. Slit up the eel and bone it ; wash 
and dry it ; cut it in pieces about three or four inches 
long ; dredge these with flour, which is to be wiped off so 
as to leave all dry. Dip the pieces in a thick batter made 
of melted butter, yolk of eggs, minced parsley, sage, 
shalot (very little shalot), pepper and salt. Roll them 
next in fine breadcrumbs or in pounded biscuit. Dip 
them in the batter again, and roll them again on the bread- 
crumbs. The pieces may now, to justify the name of 
spitchcock, be impaled on small spits, or as the French 
say, en brodiette. But whether thus impaled or not, they 
are to be broiled on or before a clear fire to a light-brown 
tint. Eels may thus, too, be broiled whole, or they may 
be roasted in a Dutch oven. Let them be sent to table 
garnished with parsley fried crisp, and with a sauceboat 
of English butter-sauce sharpened with lemon-juice. 

Fried Eels, or Eels d la Tartare. — ^Cut the eel in pieces 
. three or four inches long, and let them cook for twenty 
minutes in a Mirepoix of red wine ; let them also cool 
in the liquor, which ought to be nearly a jelly when 
cold. Take out the pieces, and roll them in fine bread- 
crumbSf dip them in two or three yolks of eggs which 
have been beaten up in the liquor. Boll them again in 
the breadcrumbs, and fry them. Serve them with Tartar 
sauce. The English way is much more simple. If they 



Eel 167 

are to be boiled at all beforehand, it is enongh to do so in 
water, salt and vinegar. But this preliminary process is 
often dispensed with. The eels are cut in pieces and 
boned, rubbed with salt, pepper, and mixed spices, 
brushed with egg, and rolled in crumbs. They are then 
fried, and sent to table with fried parsley and Tartar 
sauce. Fried eels come to be expensive inasmuch as the 
fat in which they are fried will not serve for other fish. 

Stewed Eeh. — Chop small two shalots and pass them 
in a little butter for five or six minutes. Add some red 
wine and a faggot of parsley, together with a spoonful 
of vinegar, nutmeg, pepper and salt Put the pieces of 
eel into this, and let them stew for twenty-five or thirty 
minutes. Take the eel out and keep it hot till its sauce is 
ready, which sauce will be made in the following manner : 
— 'Add butter and flour to the liquor in which the eel has 
stewed, together with a little essence of anchovies. Cook 
this for about ten minutes. Then dish the eel and strain 
the sauce over it Stewed eels may also take the form of 
a matelote with any amount of garniture ; or they may be 
served in a poulette sauce. 

Eel Pie, — This used to be a famous pie, but we hear 
little of it now. The following is the Richmond receipt : — 
Skin, cleanse, and bone two Thames eels. Cut them in 
pieces and chop two small shalots. Pass the shalots in 
a little butter for five or six minutes, and then add to 
them a small faggot of parsley chopped, with nutmeg, 
pepper, salt, and two glasses of sherry. In the midst 
of tiiis deposit the eels, add enough water to cover them, 
and set them on the fire to boil. When the boiling point 
is reached, take out the pieces of eel and arrange them 
in a pie-dish. In the meantime add to the sauce two 
ounces of butter kneaded with two ounces of flour, and 
let them incorporate by stirring over the fire. Finish 
the sauce with the juice of a whole lemon, and- pour it 



1 68 Eggs 

among and over the pieces of eel in the pie-dish. Some 
slices of hard-boiled egg may be canninglj arranged on 
the top and in among the lower strata. Roof the whole 
with puiF-paste ; bake it for an hour ; and lo ! a pie 
worthy of Eel-pie Island. It is a great question, debated 
for ages on Richmond Hill, whether this pie is best hot or 
cold. It is perfect either way. 

Eggs. — ^There is an old philosophic question — ^Which was 
produced first, the egg or the hen? Theologians might 
perhaps decide for the egg, on the ground that all birds' 
eggs are innocent and good for food, but all the birds them- 
selves are not. It is difficult, however, to imagine how 
the world got on before the barndoor fowl was tamed and 
taught to lay regularly. The culture of the egg is one of 
the great events of civilisation, and has yielded an aliment 
of the rarest delicacy, of unfaihng resource, and of magical 
variety. Nothing in the way of food more simple than an 
egg, and nothing so quick and marvellous in its manifold 
uses and transformations. There are said to be about 600 
ways of serving an egg, over and above the uses to which 
it may be put in creams, custards, leasons, sauces, and 
cakes. Here it is possible to enumerate only a few of the 
most popular receipts, omitting the pancake and the 
omelette, which will be described under their proper names. 
In general, it will be found that the simpler preparations 
are the most in favour. The egg may be said to come 
ready cooked from the hand of nature — a masterpiece not 
easily to be improved by mortal cooks. 

Boiled Effff8»-^-These are, hke the egg of Columbus, 
simplicity itself. But a word may be useful on the way 
to cook eggs at table in a bowl. Pour boiling water over 
a couple of them in a bowl, and cover them with a plate. 
In from twelve to fifteen minutes they are ready. The 
delicious little eggs of the guinea-fowl are ready in ten 
minutes. 



Eggs 169 

PocuJied Eggs, — Have water wiiii a little salt and a dash 
of viDegar in it simmering in a shallow saucepan. Break 
each egg into a teacup, and quickly turn the cup over into 
the saucepan, so as to stand bottom upwards in the water 
with the egg inside. In a few seconds the egg will be set, 
and the cup can be removed. Proceed in like manner with 
the other eggs, and let tl^em simmer till done enough. 
Serve the eggs when done on buttered toast, on spinach* 
in soup, or on the top of mineed meat. 

Fried Eggs, according to the English way, are not to 
be thought of: they are a villainy. The egg is fried with 
a very little butter or bacon fat, in a large frying-pan — 
spreads out, and becomes on its edges thin and hard as 
parchment There are but two ways of frying an egg 
properly. One is the Provencal method of poaching it in 
hot oil or fat ; the other is known by the odd name of 

Eggs an the Dish, or Buttered Eggs — ^because they are 
generally served on the dish in which they are cooked. 
This dish is a small flat saucer, which used to be of tinned 
iron, but is now made of earthenware to stand the fire. It 
may be of any size — to hold a single egg or any number 
— the wall of the dish hemming the egg or eggs round so 
as to prevent too much spreading. Melt a little butter in 
the dish, sprinkle it with salt, break into it the required 
number of eggs, fry them for a couple of minutes on a 
spirit-lamp or on the top of the stove, shake salt and pepper 
over them, and they are ready. 

Eggs in Black Butter. — Use somewhat more butter than 
for the foregoing, and before putting the eggs in let the 
butter become a rich brown. Put in the eggs ; let them 
fry for a couple of minutes ; and at the last pour over 
them a small spoonful of hot vinegar. 

Eggs in sunshine ((Eufs au soleil) — called by the Italians 
Eggs in purgatory. Take some eggs on the dish, and when 
they are finished pour over them some tomato sauce. 



I70 Eg^ 

Eggs in moonshine take their name from the well-known 
fact that the moon is made of green cheese. Prepare some 
eggs on the dish as above, and sprinkle them with grated 
cheese — Parmesan or Gruyfere. Also some cheese may be 
melted with the butter in the bottom of the dish before it 
receives the eggs. 

Scrambled Eggs ((Eufs brouill^s). — Six eggs, two ounces 
of butter, a ^'ineglassful of milk, with pepper, salt, and, if 
liked, a little nutmeg. Whip these in a saucepan over the 
fire with a wire whisk till the eggs begin to set : then take 
the saucepan off, but keep on stirring for a couple of 
minutes more. Serve it with fried crusts or with buttered 
toast. Variety is given to these eggs by mixing them with 
asparagus points, or chopped parsley, or truffles, or mush- 
rooms, or bacon, according to taste. 

Fondue is a name given to scrambled eggs intermingled 

with grated Gruyire — but there is a difference in the 

proportion used. Weigh the eggs — an egg is supposed to 

weiffh from one-and-a-half to two ounces. Take one-third 

of their weight of grated Crruyfere, and one-sixth of their 

weight of butter. Stir all in a saucepan on the fire, and 

then off the fire, as directed for scrambled eggs, and add 

, pepper. Why the name of Fondue (melted) — and Fondue 

I iQ the feminine, too — should be reserved for this, and this 

\ alone, is not quite clear. 

Eggs and Onions — sometimes called Eggs k la tripe. — 
Cut some onions in slices, blanch them, drain them, pass 
them in butter, add a spoonful of flour with pepper and 
salt, and moisten them with a tumblerful of milk or of 
broth. Stew them slowly in this for half an hour. Then 
take six hard-boiled eggs, cut the white in slices, mix them 
with the onion, and serve them, placing the hard yolks on 
the top uncut. 

The Monster ^^^.— Break a dozen or two of eggs, 
separating the whites from the yolks. Tie up the yolks in 



Endive 1 7 1 

a pig's bladder, boil them hard, and take them oat again. 
In a still larger bladder place the whites ; into the midst 
of this put the yolk ; tie np the bladder tight ; and boil 
the whole till the white hardecs. Uncover the monster 
egg, and serve it on a bed of spinach or other vegetable. 
This is a French jest in imitation of the great Madagascar 
Pggs of the Epiomis Maximiis, which would contain about 
twelve dozen bens' eggs. 

Egg Sauce. — Boil three or four eggs for a quarter of an 
boor, chill them in cold water, remove the shells, cut them 
into dice, stir all into a boatful of English sauce, and 
serve hot. The best egg sauce is made with turkeys' eggs; 
and perhaps a better way of presenting the eggs is to cut 
only the whites into dice, hut to press the yolks through a 
wire sieve, in which case they wilt come out like vermicelli. 

Endivb, as known at our tables, is of three kinds, one of 
wbich may be dismissed with a word. It is the wild endive 
or snccory, called in France Batbe de Capucin, and ex- 
cellent as a salad in the winter time. The other two kinds 
are tiie curly-leaved endive, often called chicory, and the 
broad-leaved or Bativian enlive, always known in France 
as the escarole. Many persons ia England when they eat 
this last never know that it is endive— ^t looks so like a 
cabbage-lettu ce . 

Endive for garnish. — Boil it like cajjbage for twenty-five 
minutes ; cool it, drain it, and press out the water. T' 
chop it very fine, salt it, and toss it in a stewpan witl 
ounce of butter and one of flour. Add to it gradu 
about half a pint of broth, still tossing and stirring. ' 
of all, finish it with another ounce of butter and s 
grated nutmeg. 

Endive Salad. — When the French prepare this be 
they always like to have with it, as what they call/owrati 
giving an accessory flavour, a chapon. This is the n 



172 English Satue 



by ^rhich a crust of bread rubbed with garlic is known.. 
The chapon, thrown into the salad and mixed with it 
vigorously, imparts its garlic flavour to the endive. Many 
people may not enjoy this garlic Let them try instead 
slices of a raw tomato intermingled with the endive. 

English Sauce — the so-called melted butter, said to bo 
the one English sauce. We might expect the one English 
sauce to be always made in perfection, and especially as 
nothing can be more simple. On the contrary, it is pro- 
verbial for its villainy and its resemblance to bill-stickers' 
paste, which is the result not only of carelessness but very 
often of stinginess. People who will go to great expense 
for fish will, to save twopence-halfpenny, stint the quantity 
of butter necessary for a good sauce. The sauce is the 
result of two processes which are quite distinct. ; and all 
the many failures of it are due, even where there is no 
stint of butter, to the fact that as commonly made it is the 
result of but one process. 

Act First. Knead an ounce of fresh butter into a paste 
with an equal quantity of sifted flour, some salt, nutmeg 
and mignonette pepper ; dilute it with a gill, or even a 
gill and a half, of warm water ; stir it on the fire till it 
boils ; let it boil for three minutes — that is, till the flour 
is cooked — ^and then pass it through the pointed strainer. 
This is what many people call melted butter : they think 
that with the first act there is an end of the business. But 
even if four times the quantity of butter were used it would 
not produce a good sauce, for butter cooked in this way 
loses much of its flavour. The first act makes no melted 
butter; it only makes a vehicle for the melted butter which 
is to come. 

Act Second. The vehicle being boiling hot, mix in at 
the last, when the sauce is to be served, three more ounces 
of butter, stirring it quickly with a wire whisk. This 
butter is not to be cooked — only melted^ as its name indi* 



Entrees 173 

cates ; and in order to melt it quickly without cooking it, 
the butter, which should be of the best, is often divided 
into small pieces before being thrown in. Take it off the 
fire in the moment of melting, add to it a few drops of 
lemon-juice, and serve it at once. Act First may be per- 
formed at any time, hours before the sauce, which may be 
kept hot in the bain marie, is wanted. Act Second is to be 
deferred till the last moment. 

When this sauce is served with asparagus or cauliflower 
add a tablespoonful of cream to it, and either increase the 
lemon-juice or use a teaspoonful of white-wine vinegar. 

Entrecote. — A rib-steak. This is prized in France as 
next to the fillet-steak. There are good judges in England 
who declare that the rib-steak of English or Scotch beef is 
the best of all steaks. 

Entr]^es and Entremets. — Few English people have a 
clear idea what is the difference between entries and entre- 
mets, and yet upon this hangs the whole significance of 
the French arrangement of dinner, which has certainly 
been thought out with great care and with the finest 
artistic feeling. The same cannot be said of the English 
dinner : good as it is, the arrangement is not good, and 
comes down as an evil legacy from ancestors who were 
undoubtedly giants in their powers of mastication and 
digestion. It is one of the rules of English life that, after 
the soup, a dinner must always begin with fish, which is 
never to appear later on, unless perhaps in the form of 
crab pie or lobster salad when game fails. The rule, in 
its first part of ancient standing, belonged also to the old 
French service of the table ; and Careme, when he under- 
took to rearrange the order of the dinner, did not dare to 
put it aside for great occasions, though for small dinner 
parties of six or nine he invariably rejected it The 
aphorism of BriUat-Savarin is not to be disputed, that 
the progression of dishes should be from the more sub- 



1 74 Entrees 

stantial to the light and delicate. Fish is usually con- 
sidered more delicate and less substantial than meat ; 
but always in an English dinner it is attacked first, 
when the appetite is most robust, and it would be an 
appalling breach of good manners to ask for it in the later, 
stages of the repast, when tibe appetite is satisfied, declines 
all serious business, and will only play with food. The 
theory of the English dinner is that we are to work up by 
slow degrees to the grand event of the dinner — the Joint. 
The fish and the side-dishes are but the walk and the canter 
before the race. This is all very well as a metaphor, but 
metaphors are misleading. There are two great objections 
to the system. The first is that it makes no provision 
for persons of weak digestion, who come faint to a late 
dinner, who resolve to content themselves with the joint, 
and who have to wait for it an hour or more while the 
side-dishes are being devoured. The second is that whereas 
the order of dishes leads up to the joint, this joint is nearly 
always a roast, and immediately afterwards the second 
course begins with another roast— namely of game. These 
two roasts, one upon the heels of another, are surely a 
mistake, and extremely inartistic. 

The French service of the table, as remodelled by Carfime, 
is better devised, and proceeds upon the principle already 
mentioned of a progression from the more solid and plain 
dishes to the lighter and more curious. The dinner has two 
courses and two only, which are signalised by the two names 
of entr(5es and entremets. The first course consists of 
entries with a joint to begin with. The second course 
consists of entremets with a roast to bemn with. 

First course, — The soup is served with the first course, 
but it is, properly speaking, no part of it, and is rather a 
natural preface to the whole dinner. We sit down tired, 
and want a few mouthfuls of something to set us up. We 
imbibe the soup, our spirits are restored, and we are then 
ready to begin the dinner in its first course— the entrees. 



Efitrees 175 

These are of two kinds, the great and the small. The small 
ones we all know ; the large ones are not always reckoned 
as such, because they are known by other names — Releves in 
French, Removes in English, so called simply because they 
take the place of the soup tureens. And here the English- 
man begins to get confused. These removes or large entrees 
do not seem to him to have the character of entries at all. 
Perhaps one of them is a fish ; probably the other is what 
the French call an entree de broche — what he would call a 
a joint. One of the removes being a fish, he is willing to 
discuss it at once, though he would be gravely scandalised 
at the notion of calling it an entree — a name which he 
always associates with made dishes ; but the other being a 
joint, and probably a roasted or brazed one, he thinks it 
ought to be postponed to the place in the dinner which is 
especially allotted to the roast, so that he may eat all his 
roasts together. In the French, or at least in the original 
idea, the removes are entries not less than the little dishes 
which are commonly so called, though it must be allowed 
that in later practice it is usual to class them as something 
distinct from entrees. But be the name what it may, if 
people must have a joint, or remove, or pifece de resistance 
to fall upon, then the proper place for it, in the French 
idea, is at the beginning of the first course and not at the 
end. There are only two limitations as to the nature of 
these joints, removes or large entrees, and neither of these 
is very strict. The first is that to give them the character 
of an entree they should be accompanied by a good sauce 
or dainty vegetable garnish ; the second that they should 
not include fowl or vinged game, which are best reserved 
for the roast proper. 

Second course, — ^As the first course began with substantial 
and rather plain dishes, the removes, tapering off into the 
more delicate entries, it is assumed that the diner is now 
prepared to run a second race of entremets, beginning with 
something plain and substantial in the form of a little roast. 



176 Entrees 

But in France, the wor4 Boast has a wider signification 
than in England — it includes a Friture. Frying is indeed 
but a mode of roasting, and it would be orthodox in France, 
though not too common, to begin the second course with 
a fried fish. If a choice of several roasts were offered, one 
of them might well be a fried fish, and the list of roasts 
in France would include a baked haddock, an eel from 
the spit, and all manner of pies. Try and imagine the 
countenance of an Englishman aghast at the sight of fried 
gudgeons offered to him for a roast at the commencement 
of the second course. And yet — for all depends on the 
previous selection — fried gudgeons may at this point of the 
dinner be perfectly artistic There is truly no reason in the 
Englishman's hard-and-fast rule of eating fried gudgeons 
only at the beginning of dinner. It is to be presumed 
that when the second course has come most persons want 
only to nibble : and the French service of the dinner keeps 
this wish clearly in view and ministers to it. The roast 
to begin with is not too solid, and the entremets in succes- 
sion are as light as possible, confined for the most part to 
vegetable dishes, delicate pastry, eggs, cakes, creams, tarts, 
and sweets. By way of example, take the minutes of two 
of Carerae's dinners — the first for February, the second 
lor November. 

Fevrieb : Menu de six & neuf couverts. 
Tin potage . . . Le potage au c^eri. 

I. 

Une grosse pikce . La pi^ce de boeuf k la Flamande. 
Deux entries . . Lea papilloies de filets de carpe k la Duxelles. 

Les perdreaux k la P^rigord. 

n. 

Un plat der6t . Le chapon an cresson. 
Deux, eiitremeta . Les oeufs k la Dauphine. 

La geMe de fraises (conserve). 
Pour extra . . Les darioles k Tonuige. 



Epicure 177 

Here it is to be observed that the dinner begins with the 
joint; and that the fish is among the entries — ^the game also. 

li^oysB£BSE : Menu de six k neuf couverts. 
Un potage . . . Le potage de semoule au consonuu^. 

I. 

Une grosse pUce . La pi^ de boeuf i la Martfchale. 
Deux entries . . Lea perdreaux k la P^rigueux. 

Les poiilets d^peo^ k ritalienne. 

n. 

Un plat de rdt . Lea merlans frits pan^s k TAnglaise. 
Ihux entremets . Las ^pinards au velout^. 

La gel^ au via de Mad^re. 
Pour extra . • • Les manons d'abrioots. 

Here, again, it will be seen that the grosse pifece, or joint, 
comes first ; and see what the roast is — fried whitings with 
their tails in their mouths and breadcrumbed after the 
English fashion. 

In 1856 Dubois and Bernard published their great work, 
La Cuisine Classiqite, and laid down clearly the law of 
the French table as regards roasts and joints : and there 
has been no change since then. They give a list of forty- 
five roasts — of which nine are difierent sorts of fish — 
whitings, cod, smelts, carp, mullets, trout, etc. — to be fried 
or grilled ; all the rest being fowl or game. They point out 
that in some countries lamb appears among the roasts, but 
insist that this is an infraction of the good rule that joints 
of butcher's meat should be eaten at the beginning of 
dinner — ^an infraction which would never be tolerated 
except in a repast without ceremony, what the French 
call a bourgeois and the English a family dinner. 

Epicubb. — The name of Epicurus is a standing proof of 
the irony and bitterness of life. A philosopher who mag- 
nified the pleasures of the mind, his name is appropriated 
to those who cultivate the pleasures of the body. Happi- 

12 



178 Epigram 

ness for him lay in calm, in content, in contemplation ; 
happiness for all those who take his name lies in the 
restless titillation of appetite and the ceaseless ministering 
to insatiable desire. No doubt the philosopher went too 
far in the exaltation of spirit ; bnt that is no reason why 
those who usurp his name should go still further in the 
exaltation of the senses. We are not all mind, neither are 
we all body ; but the master was much nearer the truiih than 
his so-called disciples who reverse his doctrines. Appetite 
is a mean thing by itself alone, and though we cannot get 
rid of it, the less we say of it the better. Call it hanger 
or thirst or lust, there is in it by itself something mean and 
unlovely ; it is not until it rises out of itself, inspired with 
wit and imagination, with romance . and remembrance, 
with kindness of heart and all the tenderness, it may some- 
times be folly, which link us to each other and make up 
the delight of life and the courtesies of society, that love 
turns to poetry, and hunger and thirst, as at a banquet 
of the gods, compel the feast of reason and the flow of 
soul. 

Epigram. — ^* I have been dining," said a French noble- 
man to one of those wealthy but often ignorant tax-farmers 
who used to be called financiers in France — '^ I have been 
dining with a poet who regaled us at dessert with a choice 
epigram." The financier went home to his cook, and asked 
him, ** How comes it that you never send any epigrams to 
my table ? " The next day the cook sent to table an 

Epigram of Lanib. — Poetical epigrams are generally 
written in alternate verse ; and epigrams of lamb consist 
of alternate cutlets. One set of cutlets are of the ordinary 
kind, cut from the neck, and fried plain in clarified butter: 
the other kind are made out of the breast of lamb, which 
is brazed, boned, pressed between two dishes, and when 
cold carved into cutlet shapes, with a bit of bone stuck into 
each at one end to complete the likeness. These cutlets 



Essence 179 

are breadcrambed before they are fried. To serve ihem, 
pile in the centre of the dish a garnish of asparagas points, 
of peas, or of Macedon ; arrange round it alternately the 
plain cutlets and the breadcrambed ones, and let them be 
convoyed to table by a boatful of Bechamel. 

Epigram of Fowl, — Here the fillets of fowl supply the 
place of the plain cutlets ; the legs, boned and brazed, are 
made into breadcrumbed ones, and the sauce is Supreme, 
with the same garnish as for lamb ; or else the Toulouse 
relish supplies the place of garnish and sauce. 

Esau's Pottage. — The soup of lentils — commonly called 
Chantilly. The same process as for pea soup. 

Escalopes. — English cooks are bad enough in their 
corruptions, but the French ones beat them hollow, and 
then the English ones, to show off their learning, take up 
the absurd French names and flourish them as titles of 
nobility. The sandwich has gone over to France, and has 
been transformed into a Snit mich ; the veal cutlet has 
passed into a Wil cotelette ; the mince-pies are Miss Paes : 
and whisky, or rather usquebagh, has become Scubac. I 
expect every day to see the Snit mich, the Wil cotelette, 
the Scubac, and Miss Paes come back to England. So 
there are many cooks here who now begin to speak of 
escalopes of veal and of other meat. The man who says 
escalope when he means collop deserves a whipping. I am 
reminded of two lines in Shakespeare — 

God knows thou art a collop of my fleflh. 
And for thy sake I have shed many a tear. 

EsPAGNOLE. — See Spanish. 

Essence. — There is something of humbug in this. We 
have essence of ham, essence of truffles, essence of chicken, 
essence of game. These are decoctions or purees contain- 
ing as much as possible of the flavours which the cook, by 



1 8(3 Faggots 

his processes, can concentrate into a little space — and that 
much is very little indeei It is the old story of Bertrand, 
cook to the Prince of Soubise, pretending to pat a whole 
ham into a scent-bottle. It is the jest which Charles Lamb 
imagined when, in describing the manner of Mnnden the 
actor, he said that it seemed as if he could see a leg of 
mutton in its quiddity. 




[AGGOTS are to the kitchen garden what 
bouquets -or nosegays are to the flower 
garden, and the French indeed use the word 
bouquet to designate some of the combina- 
tions which are here called faggots in extension of a well- 
known phrase. It is useful to be able by a word to name 
at once a constantly recurring assortment of yegetables or 
herbs used for seasoning. When we speak of a faggot 
of parsley, a faggot of herbs, a faggot of ravigote, it 
is at once known what sort of posy we want to 
make up. The term, however, is here extended to any 
other known and useful collection of pot-herbs — such 
as the Duxelles and the Mirepoix. But it is im- 
portant in fixing upon a name to he sure that it is 
distinctive. Any inexperienced person looking through 
the cookery books will be sorely puzzled to make out the 
difference between the faggots peculiar to Braze, White 
Braze, Blanc, Poele, and Mirepoix. Where one cook 
makes a difference, another makes none. All the highly- 
flavoured vegetables, herbs and spices seem* to be amassed 
in every combination, as if it would be improper to leave 
any of them out. There is not only seldom a marked 
difference between one and another — ^there is never any 
general agreement as to what the difference shall be. The 
reader must accept the following enumeration not as 



Faggots 1 8 1 

perfect nor as uniyersally received, but as an attempt 
to make out a list which shall be at once clear and free 
from useless repetition : — 

1. Faggot of Parsley. — This is a little bunch of parsley 
tied up with cibols or spring onions. It is in French 
called a bouquet. 

2. Faggot of Sweet-herbs, — What the French call a 
bouquet garni. This used to be described as a faggot of 
parsley with the addition of a bayleaf and a sprig of thyme. 
As in practice^ however, when this faggot is- used, there are 
onions or shalots besides, the cibols or spring onions of the 
parsley faggot come to be of small account. It is better, 
therefore, to leave out the cibols, and to describe it as made 
up of parsley, bayleaf and thyme. 

3. Faggot of Ravigote. — Tarragon, chervil, bumet, and 
chives. Sometimes there is parsley, but it is quite un- 
necessary beside the tarragon and the chervil ; and it is a 
good illustration of the indiscriminate fashion in which 
cooks throw in one good thing after another. It is the 
old story of the artist who could paint a cypress and 
therefore put a cypress into all his pictures, no matter 
what the subject. Parsley is a good thing, and therefore 
cooks will strew it everywhere. See the article on Havi-i 
gote— only here note that for the most part this faggot is 
got together to be chopped. 

4. Faggot of Duxelles. — Dubois and Bernard have called 
this Fine Herbs ; and Gouff^, without adopting: the* name, 
has given his opinion in favour of it. There are reasons 
why we should still keep to the old French name of 
Duxelles — which see. Ever since Beauvilliers laid down 
the law, the faggot of Duxelles has consisted of equal 
weights of mushrooms, parsley, and shalots, minced finely 
together and fried for five minutes with rasped bacon, 
pepper and salt. In later times, those who can get it add 
an equal weight of truffles. It is a question, however, 



1 82 Feast 

wheilier the quantity of parsley and of shalots is not 
excessive. In the mind of the inventor the mnshrooms 
were intended to predominate. But if to half a pound of 
mushrooms you put half a pound of parsley, and on the 
top of that half a pound of shalots, it scarcely stands to 
reason that the mushrooms should have much the best 
•fit 

5. Faggot of Mirepoia, — Two carrots, two onions, two 
^halots, two bayleaves, a sprig of thyme, a clove of garlic, 
half a pound of fat bacon, and possibly half a pound of 
ham. Chop these finely and pass them in butter for five 
minutes, with pepper and salt. For further explanation 
see Mirepoix. 

6. Faggot of Pot-herbs. — The following receipt is nearly 
identical with what the French cooks call Poele, only that 
it wants veal and ham for reasons which will be found 
in the article Mirepoix. Take two carrots^ two onions, 
two cloves, and a faggot of sweet-herbs ; mince all finely 
with half a pound of beef fat, and melt it on a slow fire 
with a Uttle broth and salt, and the juice of at least one 
lemon. It will be observed that the chief diflerenoe between 
this and the Mirepoix is that it has less of the onion tribe in 
it, that it has a quantity of lemon-juice, and that fresh fat is 
substituted for the smoky bacon fat. If this faggot be put 
into a saucepan with no broth, but plenty of water (say three 
quarts), together with some flour, and if it be then boiled 
for half an hour and strained, the resulting liquor is what 
the French cooks call Blanc. 

FAWN-p-to be stuffed and roasted like a hare, barded 
with bacon. 

Feast. — '^The Great Feast at the enthronisation of the 
Beverend Father in God, George Neville, Archbishop of 
York and Chancellor of England, in the sixth year of the 



Finance 



183 



reign of King Edward IV. (1466). And first, the goodly 
provision made for the same : — 



Wheat . 




. qrs. 


300 


Pigeons 


. 4000 


Ale 




. tuns 300 


Coneys 


. 4000 


Wine . 




. tuns 100 


In bitterns 


204 


Hippocras 




. pipe 1 


Heronshaws . 


400 


Oxen 






104 


Pheasants 


200 


wad Bnll« 






6 


Partaidges 


500 


Muttons 






. 1000 


Woodcocks 


400 


Veals 






304 


Curlews 


100 


Porks 






304 


Egrettes 


. 1000 


Swans . 






400 


Stags, bucks and roes 500 &more 


(xeese 






. 2000 


Pasties of venison cold 4000 


Capons . 






. 1000 


« Parted " dishes of jelly 1000 


Pig» . 






. 2000 


Plain dishes of jelly . 3000 


Plovers 






400 


Cold tarts baked . . 4000 


Quails 






. 1200 


Hot pasties of venison 1500 


Of the fowls called Bee vee 


1 2400 


Hot custards . . . 2000 


Tn peacocks 


• 


• « 


104 


Pikes and breams . 608 


MaUards and teals 




. 4000 


Porpoises and seals 12 


In cranes 


 


« « 


204 


Spioes, sugared delicates 


In kids 


• 


• % 


204 


and wafers . Plenty." 


In chickens 


• 


• \ 


. 2000 







Fennel Sauce. — Fennel blanched^ chopped, and added 
to English butter sauce. Generally reserved for boiled 
mackerel. 

Feuilletagb. — PuflF paste. 

Finance, to which French cookery paid homage, meant 
taxes ; and the Financiees were tax-farmers, who filled 
the coffers of the state, and made their own fortunes too, 
amid the groans and execrations of the people. The words 
have a larger meaning now ; but still financing has from 
age to age the same characteristics, and the money- making 
class the same tastes and foibles. Newly rolling in wealth, 
the financiers are apt to be gaudy in their tastes and 
luxurious in their lives. The cooks have done them the 
honour to invent for their especial behoof the Financiers' 



1 84 Pine Herbs 



Bagout or Relish. The receipt for it is given among the 
Belishes (No. 1). It abounds in mushrooms to remind them 
of their upstart origin ; in truffles to signify by the fragrant 
fruits of earth-grubbing the precious results of money- 
grubbing ; in cocks* combs emblematic of conceit ; in 
quenelles^ a delicate transformation of chicken, hinting at 
the transfiguring influence of wealth ; and in coUops of 
sweetbread to melt in the mouih, and make the financier, 
though his heart be hard, feel the softness of life. These 
and other dainties are bathed in the 

Financiers^ Sauce, which is the finest Spani^ sauce 
mingled with essences of mushrooms, truffles, and chicken, 
exhilarated with Madeira wine and reduced to a cuUis. 

Fine-Herbs. — Dubois, Bernard, and Gouff!5, the chief 
recent authorities in France, have proposed to give this 
name to a Duxelles — ^that is, a mince of mushrooms, 
parsley, and shalots. Have they any right to disturb the 
more ancient meaning of the phrase? Everybody has 
heard of the omelet with fine-herbs. Are we to understand 
this henceforth as an omelet with minced mushrooms in it 
as well as minced parsley and onions ? If not, what is the 
use of confusing terms ? Fine-herbs are indefinite: in the 
omelet they mean one combination ; in the beefsteak they 
may mean another, for they often include tarragon; and 
there is something arbitrary in proposing to confine them 
to the Duxelles assortment. 

Fish is one of the greatest luxuries of the table, and is 
so abundant, at least near the seaboard, that it ought to be 
within reach of the poorest Unfortunately it is, after 
game, the dearest of all food, and it is not easy to under- 
stand why. The Irish died of starvation in their famine 
of potatoes ; they had an inexhaustible supply of fine fish 
about their coasts, which were of little or no use to them. 
Ko one can say that fish is undervalued in London : we 



Fish 185 

are all eager for it ; but it is excessively dear, whereas it 
ought to be excessively cheap. If it were the fishermen 
who demanded the big price, we could sympathise with 
them ; they risk their lives for our good, and they should 
be well paid. But a first-class trawler considers himself 
well paid if he can get 3d. a pound for the best of his fish. 
Why are we to pay in London and all over England 
Is. and Is. 6d. a pound for fish which the trawlers deliver 
on the shore to the salesmen at 2^d. and 3d. a pound? 
There is no great trade in the world which is allowed to 
make such profit as that of the fish salesmen ; and there is 
no trade with which co-operative societies could interfere 
more advantageously for the benefit of families. 

For cooking fish — one thing is clear : if it is of the first 
order and perfectly fresh, do not give too much heed to 
French directions. The only safe guides are the English 
and the Dutch. The French, when they settled their 
methods of cooking fish, did not get it so fresh as it was to 
be had in England and in Holland — it was generally a day 
older. When a noble fish — a salmon or a turbot — is quite 
fresh, the simplest way of cooking it is the best, and it is 
impossible to improve upon the English and Dutch methods. 
On the other hand, when the fish is poor, or a day older 
than need be, the French cooks can give many a good hint, 
and their rich sauces and garnishin^s, their marinades and 
matelotes have a magical effect. There are few dishes more 
worthy of honour than a carp k la Chambord, a sole in a 
Normandy matelote, the remains of a turbot in a cream au 
gratin, or the tasteless little river crayfish done up k la 
Bordelaise. 

With regard to the freshness of fish, however, there is a 
remarkable difference to be noted. Some fish will keep 
perfectly sweet and fresh longer than others ; and we can 
even detect a law in this distinction. Divide fish into 
those which keep to the surface of the water and those 
which hold to the ground. It may be presumed that the 



1 86 Fiounder 



former require more air than the latter^ and that when 
they cease to breathe freely they deteriorate. As a matter 
of fact we find that those fish which disport near the 
surface of the water — mackerel, salmon, trout, herring — 
die and decay soon. They cannot be cooked too fresh. On 
the other hand, fish that haunt the bottom of the sea or of 
rivers — carp, eels, skate, and all the flat fish — are tenacious 
of life, and may be kept quite fresh for some time after 
they have left the water. 

Full Broth, — There are the most elaborate soups of fish. 
Gouffi^ gives one which he calls a consomm^, and which 
requires among other ingredients a kilogramme of turbot- 
heads. Where is one to get a kilogramme of the heads of 
a fish which singly costs in the season from 15s. to 30s. ? 
In general a fish broth is very simple. Take almost any 
kind of fish, removing the skin from those which may be 
too fishy, and stew them down with vegetables in the same 
way as for beef broth. Some people choose to add white 
French wine ; some add beef broth ; and one of the charms 
of a fish soup is to have pieces of fish served in it. The grand 
point is first of all to get the fish broth good, clear, and free 
from fat. In France and the Channel Islands the conger 
eel — skinned and sliced — is much used for boiling down to 
broth, which when clarified is served with rice and minced 
parsley, together with flakes of cod, haddock or salmon, 
fillets of sole, whiting or flounder, pieces of crab or lobster, 
or with oysters, mussels, prawns, shrimps. 

Flounder. — The best of all the flounders is not a 
flounder, but a dab. As, however, it would be impossible 
for any respectable person to eat a fish with the name of 
dab, it has been agreed that the dab shall be called a 
Thames flounder. These flounders are the fish most 
favoured at Greenwich for waterzootje, and when they 
are small and plump, they are sweet and melt in the 
mouth. If a flounder is to be fried^ it is best to fry it in 



Forcemeat 187 



fillets. The true flounder may be distiiiguished from all 
other flat fish by having on his upper side a row of sharp 
little spines along the junction of his fins with his body. 

FoNTENKLLE must always be remembered at table 
because he said a very stupid thing which he fancied was 
wise — "Let men," he said, "reason from this and from 
that about my present existence : I am only a stomach : 
it is very little, but I am content with it" Magnify the 
pleasures of the table as we may, he is a poor wretch who 
is content with his stomach, and thinks it all in all. 
Fontenelle also said that the secret of happiness is to have 
the heart cold and the stomach warm. This is not well 
said ; neither is it what one should expect from a gourmet. 
The nature of the gourmet is to be genial, not cynical. 
The stomach and the heart are the Damon and the Pythias 
of the human frame, and when the heart is wretched the 
stomach will often console it. Henry Beauderc was never 
known to smile after the death of his son, but he found 
solace in lampreys, and died from a surfeit of them. The 
Marshal de Mouchy discovered that pigeons were con- 
solatory. When a friend or relative died, he would say to 
his cook — " Roast pigeons to-day. I notice that when I 
have eaten two pigeons, I rise from table comforted." 

FoBCEHEAT. — The French name for it is /arc«, and their 
use of it tends to farce — a display of the prowess of Jack- 
pudding. They swell out their viands, and surround them 
with farce, quenelles of whiting, quenelles of chicken, 
godiveau plain, godiveau with herbs, boudin, gratin, force- 
meat shaped into balls, shaped into eggs, shaped into 
corks, farce inside the meat, farce coating it and masking 
it, farce swimming around it ; so that often the dish pro- 
fessing to be solid meat proves to be mainly farce. When 
a French cook stufis a carp, he takes every morsel of the 
fish except the head and the tail, he pounds it with other 
ingredients into stuffing, which he moulds into the likeness 



1 88 Forcemeat 



of the dear departed, putting the head at one end and the 
tail at the other to look like nature. Certainly the French 
make excellent farce; but a little of it goes a long way, 
especially with people who are not dependent upon pap, 
and who have not yet come to substitute the action of 
pestle and mortar for that of their own good grinders. 
We, therefore, who are in good health, and have not lost 
our powers of mastication, must entreat the cooks to be 
moderate in their farces, and to spare their stuffing. 

1. Quenelle. — This is the finest of the French forcemeats, 
and will be described under its own name, both on account 
of its pre-eminence, and because it involves a little critical 
discussion. 

2. Godiveau. — Take veal and ox-kidney fat in propor- 
tions which vary according to taste and the season of the 
year. The fat is never less than the veal ; sometimes it is 
double the quantity ; most commonly it is between the two 
— namely, half as much again as the veal : let us say, 
eight ounces of veal to twelve of beef fat. They are both 
to be picked perfectly free of skin and thready fibres, and 
to be chopped very small. Season them with pepper, salt, 
nutmeg ; and, still chopping, add two whole eggs — one at 
a time — until they are well mixed. Then transfer all to a 
mortar, along. with a spoonful or two of very cold water in 
winter, or an ounce or two of ice in summer ; and it is in 
summer, by the way, that the quantity of fiit must be a 
minimum, for fear of its turning. Keeping all as chilly as 
possible, pound it briskly until it is mixed into a smooth 
paste. If there is any sign of melting, use more ice, or 
take the godiveau out upon a plate and chill it in the ice- 
box. When the godiveau has become soft and smooth, it 
is to be rolled on a marble slab with flour, and divided into 
balls or sticks lightly powdered over with flour, which are 
finally to be poached in water or broth, and used for a 
garnish of various dishes. 



Forcemeat 1 89 



3. Godiveau with herbs, — When shalots, chives and parsley 
are chopped and pounded with the above, we have the 
Godiveau aux fines herbes, useful in various ways, but 
especially as an addition to pies. 

4. Oyster Forcemeat. — ^Beard a dozen oysters, mince them, 
and mix them with four ounces of fine breadcrumbs. Add 
an ounce and a half of butter, the zest of half a lemon, a 
teaspoonful of parsley, some nutmeg, cayenne and salt; and 
mix all well with the yolk of an egg and a little of the oyster 
liquor. Divide it into balls and poach them ; or put it 
whole in the breast of a turkey. It is also excellent as a 
stuffing for fish, such as John Dory. And it is mightily 
improved by being pounded to a smooth paste with another 
half-ounce of butter. 

5. Fat Forcemeat, often called Veal Stuffing — ^not because 
made of veal, but because used for stuffing veal, turkey, 
and fish, — is made of equal quantities of fat and fine bread- 
crumbs. The &t is generally ox-kidney fat, but the udder 
of veal is to be preferred, or else butter. Take, however, 
six ounces of the suet which is most commonly in use, 
mince it finely, mix it with the breadcrumbs, add to it 
chopped parsley, thyme and shalot (the two latter 
sparingly), nutmeg, pepper, and salt. Work all up with 
two yolks of eggs and a spoonful of milk, and pound it 
smooth in a mortar. 

6. Hare Stuffing is the same as the foregoing, with the 
addition of the hare's liver parboiled and chopped. 

7. Sage and Onion Stiujffing — for ducks, geese, pork. — 
Chop (but not together) four large onions and a dozen sage 
leaves. Scald them for two or three minutes, drain them, 
put them into a stewpan with breadcrumbs (six ounces), 
butter (two ounces), pepper and salt, let them simmer 
very slowly for ten or fifteen minutes, and then the stuffing 
is ready. With more cooking and with the addition of a 



igo Fi/wl 

little brown gravy, this stuffing may be nsed as a sage 
and onion sauce, served in a boat. 

8. ChestniU FarcemecU^-ctdetij used for stuffing turkeys. 
— Roast slowly and peel two or three dozen chestnuts, 
according to the size of the bird* Mix them up whole 
with fat forcemeat (No. 6), and stuff the turkey. 

Fowl. — From times very far back there has been a 
controversy in France as to the comparative merits of old 
fowls and young chickens. The argument on either side 
will be found in the article on the soup called Restaurant. 
In these modem times the chicken seems to get the best 
of it ; and what is to be said of older fowls in the way of 
culinary preparation is little else than a repetition of the 
directions already given for dealing with chickens. 

Fkicandbau is a Proven^l word meaning something 
nice. Fricandela is a nice girl ; Fric, or Frique (allied 
to the English freak), meant brisk ; Fricaud, dainty ; 
Fricot, a dainiy dish ; and here is Fricandeau belonging 
to the same series, and applied especially to a dainty did^ 
of veal, which was invented by one of ihe cooks of Pope 
Leo X. The neatest receipt for it is that of Gouff^ who 
is peculiar, however, in selecting for the dish a piece of 
the fillet of veal instead of the part most commonly 
employed — the cushion. "Take three pounds," he says^ 
" bone, trim and lard the outside with thin strips of bacon. 
Put in the glazing stewpan the trimmings of the meat, 
with two ounces of sliced carrot, two of onion, pepper and 
salt. Then lay the fiicandeau on the top ; add half a pint 
of broth ; boil the broth till it is reduced and becomes thick 
and yellow; add a pint and a half more broth, and simmer 
for an hour and a quarter — ^the stewpan half covered ; then 
dose the stewpan and put live coals on the top ; baste the 
fricandeau with the gravy every four minutes till it is 
sufficiently glazed ; take out the fricandeau and put it on 



Fritters 191 

a dish. Strain the gravy throagh the pointed strained, 
skim the fat from it^ and pour it over the meat.'' The 
fricandeau may be served either thus simply, or with a 
garnish of sorrel, endive, or spinach. 

FricassiSk, (See Chicken.) — The root of the word is 
supposed to be akin to that of the English freak. For 
etymology see previous article. 

Frittebs. — 1. Simple Fritters. — Take some batter, for 
which see the receipt. Add a little sugar to it, and pro* 
foundly weigh whether yolks of eggs should enter into it 
or not Better say yes, although the use of yolks tells 
with more distinct effect in the custard fritter. Drop 
this in spoonfuls into the frying-kettle, and serve them 
with sprinkled sugar. 

2. Custard Fritters. — Make a good custard, and steam it 
in a pudding-dish which has been first rubbed with butter. 
When it is done, let it cool, cut it into squares, dip them in 
the batter, and fry them. They are excellent by them- 
selves, but they may be served in a dish with jam or fruit 
syrup round them. 

3. Pudding Fritters. — The remains of any kind of pud- 
ding, not forgetting plum-pudding, may be served in the 
same way with excellent effect. 

4. Fruit Fritters. — For these the chief fruits used are 
apples, oranges, peaches, or pineapples. The apples and 
oranges are usually steeped in a little brandy and sugar 
for an hour beforehand. The peaches and pineapples may 
go inte Kirschenwasser and sugar. Needless te say 
anything about peeling, trimming, and cutting. Dip the 
fruit into the batter (in which, however, there should not 
be any yolks), and fry it as before, dropping spoonfuls of 
combined fruit and batter into the kettle. 

5. Balloon Fritters (Beignete Souffles). — For this there 
is a little difference in the way of preparing the batter. 



ig2 Fritters 

Take as for ordinary batter equal quantities of solid and 
liquid— say, half a pound of flour as against half a pint of 
water; and take three eggs and an ounce of sugar as 
against four ounces of butter. Put the water, butter, 
sugar, and a pinch of salt in a saucepan on the fire, and as 
soon as it boils dredge in the flour and stir it over the 
fire for four or five minutes. When it is removed from the 
fire put in a few drops of flavouring essence — ^as orange or 
almond, lemon or vanilla— or do without flavouring alto- 
gether. The three eggs are next to be broken into it and 
carefully mixed — one at a time. The paste should be stiflF 
enough now to hold together; but if too stifi^, break another 
egg into it, or half one. Make round balls the size of 
small walnuts, and put them on strips of buttered paper. 
Dip them into the frying-kettle, holding on by the strip of 
paper, from which the balls will soon detach themselves. As 
the balls are frying move them about in the kettle till they 
reach a fine colour and puff well out. Then drain them, 
sprinkle them with sugar, and serve them on a napkin. 

6. Brioche Fritters, — Take paste No. 9, using half the 
quantity of butter, and milk instead of water. Cool it on 
ice, and then roll it out thin. With a paste-cutter make 
circles about two inches in diameter. Put a small spoonful 
of apricot or other jam upon each; purse it up like a little 
dumpling, and drop it for ten minutes into hot fat. This 
is the German fashion — the dainty being of German origin. 
Always on New Year's Eve, or St. Silvester's night as it 
is called, these fritters are eaten throughout Deutschland. 
Marie Antoinette brought the remembrance of them with 
her from Vienna to Paris, and instructed the French cooks to 
make them for her, she being then the Dauphiness. They cut 
the paste as follows : — With an inch-and-a-half cutter they 
made circles, upon which they dropped the apricot jam — not 
much — the size of a cobnut With a two-inch cutter they 
made larger circles, which they placed above the jam. They 



Frying i g3 

pinched round the edges, and then set them to swim for 
five or six minufces on the one side, then for five or six 
minntes on the other in the hot fat. They were afterwards 
drained, sprinkled with sugar, piled, on a napkin, and 
dubbed Beignets k la Dauphine. The German names are 
— at Vienna, Wiener Krapfen ; and at Berlin, Berliner 
Pfannkuchen. 

Faoas are at their best in the spring, and therefore it is 
only in Lent that they are to be seen at Parisian tables. 
The hind-legs alone are eaten. They are skinned, they 
are blanched, they are boiled, and they are served either 
with a poulette sauce or fried in butter. The French 
have a theory that frogs, having a mighty power of 
croaking, are good for the chest and sovereign over a 
cough. Their final cause in fact is the cure of the con- 
sumptive. 

Frying. — Because fat, oil or butter is essential to fry- 
ing, the common idea is that the food cooked in this way 
must be rich and greasy. There cannot be a greater 
mistake. The fats are essential to it, not because of their 
richness, but because of the great heat which they can 
transmit. If water could be heated up to 300"* or 400**, it 
would produce all the efl'ect of frying. In the article on 
boiling it has been explained how meat plunged into 
boiling water (212°) has the albumen coagulated on the 
surface in the first five minutes— which is as it were a coatr- 
of-mail through which the water cannot penetrate and the 
juices cannot escape. Much more is this coat-of-mail rapidly 
and decidedly formed if the food is plunged into a fluid at 
the temperature of SOO** or 400^ That fluid is fat, and it 
neither penetrates into fish, flesh or vegetable, nor does it 
allow their juices to exude. It has not only this preserva- 
tive efiect on the interior of the food — it also developes the 
roast appearance and flavour on the exterior. The differ- 
ence between roasting and boiling is not a difference 

13 



I Q4 Frying 

between the mediums, be it water, fat, air, or steam, which 
may surround the food in the process of cooking : it is a 
difference entirely of temperature ; and frying, which by 
means of the fats conveys heat to the food at a tempera- 
ture varying from the boiling point of water upwards to 
300°, 400°, 500°, and even higher, is in fact a species of 
roasting. , Any one who likes may try this experiment, 
which ought to enlighten him as to the nature of frying. 
If he wishes to be very accurate, he can send to E. Cetti 
and Co., 11, Brooke Street, Holbom, London, who will 
provide him with a thermometer registering up to 500° 
Fahrenheit for three shillings. Negretti and Zambra will 
charge double and four times the sum. Put a leg of 
mutton into a kettle of fat at the frying temperature of 
400°. In \\ or 1^ hour (it depends on the size) — that is, 
in half the ordinary time — it will come out a perfectly roasted 
gigot, and nobody at the table who is not w^arned of a 
tlifference will discover any between it and a leg of mutton 
roasted in the ordinary way. This is a little secret for 
those who have to study the arts of impromptu cookery ; 
and here it is let out only to illustrate the nature of frying, 
and to show that it is but a manner of roasting — the most 
certain and expeditious manner of safely transmitting the 
roasting heat. 

If the reader has grasped this explanation and will 
superintend this experiment, he will be prepared to appre- 
ciate clearly the distinction between frying proper and the 
half-frying which is so often in England supposed to be 
the same thing as whole-frying — the distinction, in short, 
between a frying-kettle and a frying-pan. In the kettle 
the thing to be fried is completely immersed in the liquid 
fat, the heat is transmitted to every part alike, above and 
below, and a crisp unbroken surface is on every side 
created which excludes grease ; so that whatever is thus 
fried will when drained appear at table without any 
oiliness. In the flat frying-pan, which is best known in 



Frying 195 

'England, it is not so. There is so Kttle batter, fat or oil 
in it, that the food — ^say a sole, — ^which is on its lower 
surface subjected to a very high temperature, is on its 
upper surface open to the air at a much lower temperature. 
The cooking is thus unequal ; and worse than this, the sole 
is knocked about in the flat frying-pan, to prevent burn- 
ing ; the skin breaks ; and while the fish is being cooked on 
its under side the bubbling fat splatters on to the broken 
upper surface, which being at a lower temperature, incapa- 
ble of resistance, absorbs these splatterings, so that when 
presented at table it is decidedly greasy. If the sole be 
cooked whole in a frying-kettle, instead of being half-fried 
in a frying-pan — that is, half at a time — there will be no 
such complaint of greasiness. It mast not be supposed 
that the frying-kettle is expensive because of the large 
quantity of fat required for it. The fat lasts, and can be 
used over and over again with little waste, whereas there 
is great waste of fitt in the frying-pan. 

One of the reasons why frying is supposed to be a 
greasy mode of cooking is because lard is so much used 
for it. Lard is the very worst of the fats which could be 
selected for frying, and invariably makes the food look 
greasy. Probably there is nothing so good as oil ; bat it 
is not in general suited to English tastes, it is expensive, 
and it requires extraordinary care — for it must be heated 
very slowly, and is always apt to boil over. Butter also 
is expensive, and requires much care and slowness of 
heating. The best of all the fats for frying is the cook's 
perquisite — the clarified dripping of roast meat and the 
top fat of the stockpot ; but in small households there is 
never quite enough of it Practically the fat which is 
found to be most available is beef fat. Break it to pieces, 
melt it slowly, and then strain it for use — ^taking care, 
however, that it is not so hot as to melt the solder of the 
strainer. When the strained fat is to be used, let it reach 
the proper heat before anything is put into it. The proper 



1 96 Galantine 



heat is usually ascertained by throwing a small bit of bread 
into it. If the fitt is hot enough, the bread will fizz, and 
give out airbells. 

N.B. — There must be no salt in the fat nor in the food 
fried in it The salting takes plaoe afterwards. 




'ALANTINE. — About this curious word the 
French philologers, Littr^ and Brachet at 
their head, are in a thick fog. Everybody 
knows that galantine is not gelatine. These 
are two words for two things which are as different as 
possible. Nobody dreams that a fowl or anything else in 
a galantine means the same thing as one in a jelly or gela- 
tine. But the French etymologists, without a shadow of 
misgiving, insist that because in old writings they cannot 
find mention of galantine, whereas they do find mention 
of galatine, they must both mean the same thing (which 
indeed they do), and that this same thing must be gelatine, 
— which it is not. Oddly enough, M. Brachet winds up 
his proofs that galantine must be gelatine by quoting from 
a MS. account-book of the thirteenth century this item, 
" De duodecim lampredis portatis in galatina/' which he 
does not actually translate, but which he assumes w4th the 
most perfect assurance to mean — Twelve lampreys served 
in a jelly or gelatine. Now it so happens that in England 
we can lay our hands upon the receipt for doing the lam- 
preys in a galantine, and the moment it is explained it will 
be seen that it has nothing whatever to do with gelatine. 
It means, or rather it meant, a preparation flavoured with 
the powdered root of the sedge called galingale, or galan- 
gale, to which Tennyson refers when he speaks of " meadows 
set with slender galingale." 



Galantine 197 



^k 



About the end of the fourteenth century — say 1390 — 
the master-oooks of King Richard II., after taking counsel j 
with the physicians and philosophers of the court, made a 
collection of their most approved receipts, which they put 



together under the name of the Forme of Cury^ and which 



ne of 
dishe 



1 



gives valuable information as to the dishes most in request 
among the courtiers of that time. The MS. has unfortu- 
nately been lost, but it has been twice reprinted by learned 
doctors of the Church — first the Beverend Doctor Pegge, 
then the Reverend Doctor Warner, who may be relied on 
for the accuracy of the text, though they have not been too 
successful in its elucidation. In this collection of 19S ) 
receipts, the galantine, or galyntyne as it was spelt, is 
mentioned not once but many times, and always in con- 
nection with galyngale. Here is the receipt for making 
galyntyne — Number 138. "Take crusts of bread and 
grind them small. Do [add] thereto powder of galyngale, 
of canel [cinnamon], gyngynes [ginger], and salt it. 1 
Temper it with vinegar and draw it up through a strainer I 
and mess [dish] it forth.'^ There are other receipts for 
making sippets of galyntine, fillets of pork in galyntine, 
lampreys in galyntine, lampems in galantyne. They are 
all in the same strain, and always imply the powder of 
galyngale, generally but not always mixed with bread- 
crumb. The word has passed out of the modem French 
dictionaries, which acknowledge ilii^ plant referred to only 
under the name of Souchei But that the name existed 
in old French as it still exists in English may be ascer- 
tained by referring to an authority which all Frenchmen 
respect — Cotgrave. In this Englishman's dictionary of 
the French language, published in 1640, he gives as the 
French equivalent of galingale — galange, galangue, 
galingal. And for the plant itself, which belongs to the 
family of the sedges, and is technically known as Cyperus, 
this is what Sowerby says of it : " The root is perennial, 
long, creeping, twisted, astringent, chiefly remarkable for 



1 98 Galantine 



an agreeable spicy odonr^ in which it resembles the roots 
of some East Indian grasses that, when moistened, are 
used by the English to perfume their houses." In Parkin- 
son's time — that is, about 1650 — ^it was still used in con- 
fectionery and cookery ; but he says that the use of it was 
then dying out, and that it was chiefly employed for the 
perfume of houses. He describes also the extraordinary 
virtues which the plant was supposed to possess for the 
internal organs of men and women, while for a wonder he 
ventures to cast a doubt on their efficacy. 

Although it is perfectly clear that the galantine of old 
times (which, by the way, was not a solid as it is now, but 
a sauce with a garniture in it — what in the language of 
the modem kitdien is known as a ragoiit) was a prepara- 
tion of the galingale or galangale, it is not so clear how 
the word galantine came to be formed ; and it is important 
to explain this, because it has a curious bearing on a sub- 
sequent discussion. It is the key to a whole class of words 
beginning with gallimawfrey. The first step is to deter- 
mine the meaning of galingale. The final syllable is a 
generic term indicating the nature of the plant ; we have 
something parallel in sea kale. The first two syllables 
(which find their kindred in gala and regale) declare 
that the gale in question is a galing or regaling gale, 
and their meaning has survived in the modem English 
name for the plant — the sweet Cyperus, in the sense in 
which we speak of sweet herbs, as sweet Basil and sweet 
Marjoram. And what then is galantine ? At first sight 
one is staggered by the termination, which suggests a Latin 
origin — but it is a good English word. Tine is a generic 
term which here takes the place of gale. As we have an 
old English mistle-tine as well as mistletoe,* so there was 
galintine as well as galingale. In the old receipts they 
said indifferently — powder of galingale or powder of galin- 
tine. In dictionaries of provincial and obsolete English 
anybody will find the root tine preserved in various words 



Galantine 199 



that refer to brushwood, hedges and hedging, thorns, and 
figuratively sorrow. 

Galantine, as we now know it, is quite a recent inven- 
tion. There was a certain Marquis de Brancas, who kept 
a great kitchen in the end of the last century, at the head 
of which was a cook named Provost. The Revolution 
made an end of the Marquis, extinguished his kitchen fire, 
and threw Prevost out of work. What was the great 
artist to do ? Fortunately the Revolution, though it hated 
kings and nobles, had a great respect for cooks and loved 
good cheer. Provost set his wits to work, and created the 
galantine of modem times — a new preparation with an old 
name. He took into partnership with himself Philippe, 
who afterwards became celebrated for his restaurant in the 
Rue Montorgueil. For fifteen years they made galantines 
together, and sold them to the Parisians under the Republic, 
the Directory, the Consulate, the Empire. About 1805, 
when Nelson was sweeping the seas and culminating in 
Trafisdgar, when Napoleon was traversing Europe and cul- 
minating on the field of Austerlitz — the fame of the galantine 
rose to its height, and Paris was informed that it had changed 
its domicile. The possession of the galantine was sold to 
M. Perrier — a pastrycook in the Rue Montorgueil. Prevost 
went out of the business altogether, but it was arranged 
that Philippe should continue to construct the galantines 
which Perrier was to sell. Between them they brought 
the galantine into fashion, and achieved for it a great 
position — indeed, the very highest position among cold 
viands. 

The reader who expects a receipt for making galantine 
in this place will be disappointed. One might as well give 
a receipt for making a Bologna sausage, a Strasbourg pie, 
or turtle soup. These are dainties which belong to spe- 
cialists, and are not fit for ordinary kitchens. To make a 
galantine well, you must make a business of it, and it is 
much the best way to go to M. Dumas, of 55, Prince's 



200 Gallimawfrey 



Street, Leicester Square, and buy it The terrines which 
are sold in the shops under the name of Yorkshire pies 
are not Yorkshire pies, but galantines in pots. Buy them 
if you have not near you — worthy namesake and rival of 
the great Alexander — a Dumas who can make a romance 
oat of the breast of a turkey, and a scene out of the merry- 
thought of a chicken, raise a pheasant into a personage, 
put wit into a pistachio, and endue a truffle with the soul 
of poetry. 

Gallimawfrey or GalimafriS, and Galimatias. — For 
several hundred years these words have defied the learning 
of Europe, and so completely that not only has every 
etymologist, great and small, given them up in despair, 
but furthermore-^the last theory concerning them, uttered 
by a competent scholar, Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood, is 
virtually that they are nothing but gabble to signify gabble. 
It may therefore seem* hardy for any one to pretend at this 
time of day to have solved the riddle. But the fact is that 
the solution has hitherto been withheld, for the simple 
treason that the literary world has not deemed cookery 
books worthy of much notice. 

Perhaps the unsafest of all guides to take in searching 
for an etymon would be Manage ; ^et he was quite right, 
and most persons have felt that he was right, in asserting 
that there is a connection between Galimafr^ and Gali- 
matias. They have the same meaning. It is known that 
Galimafr^ or Gallimawfrey was originally a fricassee of 
fowl, though we hear of it afterwards as a mess of mutton 
and even of sheep's head. Galimatias, on the other hand, 
as far back as we can trace it, has always passed for a 
jumble of nonsense ; but it has also been connected with 
fowls through the explanation of it contained in the cock- 
and-bull story of the lawyer who, having to argue his case 
of the stolen cock in Ijatin, blundered it by waxing eloquent 
over Galli Matthias instead of Gallus Matthias. 



Gallimawfrey lot 



The key to both words is to be foand in the Forme of 
Curifj and in the other Bolls of Cookery edited successively 
by the Beverend Doctors Pegge and Warner. These are 
a mine of wealth to the philologer, and have not received 
half the attention they deserve. The Forme of Cury is 
especially valuable. It was compiled by the master-cooks 
of Richard II., assisted by all the doctors of philosophy 
and men of taste who took an interest in the elaborate 
gastrology of that court. Let it be remembered that 
Richard II. stands out in the history of the world as one 
of the most lavish and luxurious princes that ever lived. 
Known throughout Europe as Richard of Bordeaux because, 
the English dominion then including Gascony, he was bom 
there, and his father the Black Prince there held the seat 
of English government in France, we are told by his cooks 
and the doctors who worked with them that he "was 
accounted the best and ryallest viander of all Christian 
kings." It is to the early part of his reign, and all the 
luxury of it as described in the chronicles, that the poet 
Gray refers in the lines which have almost passed into 
proverbs : 

Fair laughs the mom and soft the zephyr blows 
While, proudly riding on the azure realm, 

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, 
Youth on the prow and pleasure at the helm. 

The common tradition is that Richard died of hunger ; but 
while he reigned he had in his kitchen a staff of several 
hundred cooks ; he entertained at his table 10,000 courtiers 
and followers, for whom were killed every day 28 oxen 
and 300 sheep, besides innumerable quantities of fowl 
and game. All the care and skill which the wealth and 
knowledge of the time could command were expended on 
the preparation of the viands. The cleverest cooks, the 
leamedest doctors, and the daintiest courtiers, put their 
heads together to range the earth for curious food, to invent 
new dishes, and to treasure up the most approved receipts 



202 Gallimawfrey 



of old ones. The result was the Forme of Cury — which 
was the old English way of spelling Queuerie — the business 
of a Qaeux or Cook. It was a cookery book in which the 
most cursory reader will detect the work of many hands, 
repetitions, varieties, here a new receipt in the language of 
the period, there an old one in a corrupt or forgotten 
language, further on a recently-worded explanation under 
an antique heading, and there again another set off with 
foreign phrases. M. Wallon has devoted two considerable 
volumes to the life of Richard II. : he has not said a word 
in it about this book and the gastronomic rage of the court 
English scholars have given it the most superficial atten- 
tion, and have strangely neglected its hints. The language 
has puzzled them sorely, and they have put it aside as 
beneath them. 

Nevertheless this cookery book, and the contemporary 
Rolls of Cookery, some of which have been published, while 
others still remain in MS., chiefly among the Sloane MSS. 
in the British Museum, is to those who care to read it a 
mine of wealth. We can see in our own time how there 
still remain in the kitchen the relics of an antiquated 
speech unknown to books ; and 500 years ago in the 
kitchen of the English king it was the same. There 
remained fragments of a language which was not only 
unknown to books, but was also scarcely understood by 
those who employed it, — words which had passed out of 
general acceptance, which had become unrecognisable, and 
which are now to the philologist what an oyster-shell on a 
hillside is to the student of geology, and the bones of bear, 
bysena and lion in the London clay to a palaeontologist. 
We light upon words which do not belong to the current 
ilanguage, and which are foreign to it, but which must at 
one time have been current somewhere in an antecedent 
speech ; and we are driven back to the conception of an 
extremely remote language — not Sanscrit, but perhaps a 
brother or a cousin to it, from which the European dialects 



Gallimawfrey 203 



have sprung. We have resembling, indeed identical, frag- 
ments of words scattered more or less throughout the 
European languages — classical, romantic, Celtic, Teutonic, 
Scandinavian — which are not to be accounted for except 
on the theory of a lost antecedent language, their progenitor, 
transmitting through many centuries tiny details of like- 
ness that here get broken into pieces, and there get 
mixed and crossed with new features. No need now, 
however, to lose ourselves in the contemplation of this 
shadowy language of far-distant ancestors ; it is enough 
that receding only five centuries, to the days of the 
Canterbury Tales, and listening to the discourse of the 
cooks — not forgetting Chaucer's cook, who 

could roast and seethe and broil and fry, 
Maken mortrewSa and well bake a pie, 

who could make blancmanger with the best, and who 
travelled with the pilgrims to boil their chickens and look 
after the galingale — we come upon traces of a language 
which had passed away, but which yet retained life enough 
in the rotting leaves it left behind to account for forms of 
speech that endure to this very day, and that, without the 
assistance of King Richard's cooks, might have remained 
for ever an impenetrable mystery. 

In all previous inquiries into ihe nature of Gullimawfrey 
and Gkilimatias, the searcher has been thrown off the scent 
by not knowing the meaning of the first two syllables. 
He knew that the words referred to something about a 
fowl, and he looked for mention of the fowl in these early 
syllables. We now know, from proofs drawn out in the 
article on Galantine, that these two syllables, if they do not 
actually refer to the powdered root of the galingale which 
was used in flavouring the fowl, which was in great request 
among King Bichard's cooks, which is mentioned as promi- 
nent in two or three dozen English receipts belonging to 
that time, and which Chaucer in the description of his cook 



204 Gallimawfrey 



singles out alone among plants as belonging to his crafl, 
must have the same force as the first two syllables of that 
word — the n in GaUnmawfrey being elided before w. 
Having arrived at this point, we can go further ; for it has 
been ascertained that the Galingale means the sweet gale> 
an epithet which survives in the more modern name of sweet 
Cypertis, and which as applied to herbs — sweet basil, sweet 
marjoram, and the rest — ^means not saccharine, but savoury. 
We are not unprepared, therefore, to hear of the dish — 
whatever it be — ^having a difierent savour, to be more fitly 
expressed by Sal and Sauce, which is short for Salsa. It 
will on this view be evident that the same explanation which 

w^ill account for Grali-ma-fr^ and 

GraU-ma-tias 
will also account for Sal -ma-gundi, the old English form, 

Sal -mi-gondis, the French form, and 

Sal -mi. 

There are other words to follow ; but in the meantime we 
confine our attention to this group of four ; to a fifth word 
which contains their solution, appearing as it does many 
times in the old English rolls of cookery — Mawmene, or 
Mawmenny; and to a sixth — Malachi — which is of the same 
order, although not so common, and which has a still more 
modem interest if it should ultimately prove to be related 
to Cock-a-leekie, Miching Malicho, and MuUagatawny. 

In all these words the ma, maw, or mi, means a fowl. 
In proof of this point, let it be observed, to begin with, that 
we have the English word mew, the Scotch maw, to 
signify a gull ; and that at the same time we have to this 
day preserved the usage of seamew and seamaw, implying 
that there are other mews besides those of the sea. Next 
note, that though by itself mew or maw in English and 
the kindred languages means always a gull, it may some- 
times either in a compound or a derivative be applied to 
other birds. In German we come upon a pigeon — the 



Gallimawfrey 205 



turbit variety — which is called mowchen. In Icelandic, 
the name of a gull is m&r (plural mavar) ; but a crow is 
ben-m&r and blod-mar ; a raven Iggjar-m&r, Odin's mar. 
In French there is mauviette, which is supposed to mean 
a lark ; but it has no such meaning in literaiy language* 
No French poet could by any possibility speak of a 
mauviette instead of an alouette singing in the sky ; 
and M. Genin has shown that it is an old kitchen term for 
any little bird. It is the remains of a lost language which 
has sur\'ived among the pots. Again, see the number of 
names of birds, besides those mentioned, which begin with 
this syllable or a similar one : Mallard, marrot (the great 
auk), mavis, macreuse, machette (French for an owl), 
merle, merlin, martin, missel, merganser. I do not give 
every word in this list as coming certainly from an ante- 
cedent root — maw, ma, or mi ; but at least they demand 
a note of interrogation, and the received account of them 
cannot be accepted as final. It is not at all clear that 
mallard, for example, means, as the French etymologists 
will have it, a male^ that the mavis is a bird bad (mal) for 
the vines ; and that merganser is a merging or diving 
anser. I am not bound to explain what all these words 
really mean : a full and correct account of them would 
take too much space and time. It is enough for present 
purposes to make out a primd-facie case for the interpreta- 
tion of ma or maw as the generic name for a bird or fowl 
in the lost language from which the European languages 
have descended. That lost language might go further 
back even than Sanscrit, which has mayara and maruka as 
the name for a peacock, marala and marula for a duck, and 
mallika for a goose ; but still, as far as we know, does not 
yield ma or maw as a generic name to include all three. 
The nearest hold we have of maw or mav as a generic 
word for bird or fowl is in the Latin language, if we may 
accept a conclusion to which all the evidence points, though 
it has not yet been absolutely proved — that avis may origi- 



206 Galnmazv/rey 

nally have been mavisj which suiriyes in English as the 
name of a thrush. Let it be remembered that in Latin 
there was a cnrioas tendency to get rid of the m sound, 
whether initial or final. How in Latin prosody the final 
m disappears before a vowel is one of the first metrical 
facts whipped into a schoolboy. As for the disappearance 
of the initial m, we are familiar enough with it in this 
country, where it is notorious that the ap of the Welshman 
is no other than the mac of the Caledonian. That this 
tendency to drop the initial m existed in Latin may be 
shown by two marked words. The Greek memos appears 
in Latin as unua ; and the English milk, the Anglo-Saxon 
miluc, appears in Latin as lac. It is therefore strictly 
within the rules to suggest that the Latin avis may origi- 
nally have been mavis, and was identical with the maw, ma, 
or mi, which has the meaning of a fowl in the language of 
the old English kitchen. It would be out of place here to 
follow up this suggestion by turning it to the elucidation 
of the names of birds. Still I venture upon three predic- 
tions : first, that the old name of marrot for the great auk 
will be found to be an exact translation of the great auk, 
which means a great bird (auca, avica, avis) ; second, that 
the martin, otherwise known as martelet or marrelet, will 
be found to derive its name, not from March, the time of its 
arrival, nor from Martinmas, the time of its departure, 
but from its being a ma with a habitation either in the 
sand or in the house-roof; and thirdly, that mallard, 
which is also spelt in old English maulard and maudelard, 
has no reference whatever to gender, but implies the bird 
or maw which has been decoyed. 

Scanty though our knowledge of the word be, there is 
evidence enough to show with absolute certainty that the 
ma or maw of mawfrey, matias, magundi, mawmene, and 
malachi, is a fowl. There are at least a dozen receipts for 
mawmene or mawmenny, and every one of them has to do 
with fowl minced, teased, pulled, frayed, pounded, brayedj 



Gallirnawfrey 207 



gronnd, bmised, carved, hacked to pieces, smitten to 

gobbets, hewed small. It is odd to see the variety and 

quaintness of the terms which, in the numerous receipts 

for mawmene, and in others of the same character not 

yet mentioned, are used to enjoin first the roasting or 

half-roasting of the fowl, and then the shredding and 

mincing of it. The receipts vary in their names, and have 

a crowd of varying ingredients, but they agree in this — 

that they are all such a confused and nonsensical jumble of 

innumerable incongruous elements, solid and liquid, animal 

and vegetable, sour and sweet, hot and bitter, growing at 

home and fetched from over the seas, as we still understand 

by gallimawfrey and gahmatias ; that it is exceedingly 

difficult to distinguish one from another — this one with a 

score of flavours and garnitures, but wanting perhaps the 

galingale or the vinegar, from that other with nearly the 

same score, but wanting the milk or the sugar ; and that 

in one and all the fowl is pulled to pieces to be either 

chopped or brayed in a mortar. The constant refrain is 

this : " Take brawn [that is, flesh] of capons y-teased, or of 

pheasant teased small ; " ^^ Take the chese [that is, the 

chopper, from which we have the diminutive chisel] and 

of flesh of capons or of hens hack small in a mortar ; '' 

" Take brawn of hens or of capon and hew them as small 

as thou may ; " " Take the thighs or the flesh of capons, 

skin them and carve them small." 

This invariable rule has found expression in the final 
syllables of mawmene, mawfrey, matias, magundi, and mala- 
chi. Mawmene or mawmenny is a fowl minced — menu. 
Mawfrey, or mafr^ as the French write it, is a. fowl frayed 
— what we still call pulled chicken. Matias is a corrupt 
rendering of the order given in one of the above extracts 
to tease the fowl. Magundi, or, as the French spell it, 
migondis, is to the like effect, though not expressed in a 
form which will so readily catch the modern ear. The 
earliest known form of the word is in the Sanscrit khandj 



2o8 Gallimawfrey 



to break, whence khanda — sugar which is broken, lump 
sugar, and the modern candy. But ^^ith loss of the n the 
same word still exists in French as coter^ to break or bruise ; 
it has relations with the first syllable of the English 
cudgel ; and it alto exists in a curious word which the French 
authorities profess themselves unable to explain, — Godi- 
veau — that is, veal minced and pounded to a soft forcemeat. 
As for malachi, it will be intelligible to any one who wfll turn 
back to read Wynkyn de Worde's inventory of terms for 
carving. He says that to carve brawn is to lesche it. The 
word is otherwise written leach, and it is to be identified at 
root with lash, slash, and (in the beating sense) lick. In 
provincial English to malahawk is to carve awkwardly 
and cut to pieces. This malachi (fowl leached or licked) 
has had a fate different from that of mawfrey, matias, 
magundi, and mawmene. It survives to the present day, 
though in an altered form. For the name of a fowl — ma — 
substitute cock, and there is the Scottish dish of cock- 
a-leekie. They fancy in Scotland that the latter part of 
the word refers to the leeks which are used to flavour the 
pottage. This is a mistake : it refers to the fact that the 
cock is to be leached — ^as the French said, alachi. 

But now we can go still further. If the foregoing ex- 
planation of Gallimawfrey, Galimatias, Salmagundi, Salmi, 
Mawmene, and Malachi be sound, it throws a new light 
upon certain other words, in some of which no difficulty 
has hitherto been suspected — Sauce Madame, Miching Ma- 
licho, Blancmanger, and MuUagatawny. Of these in their 
order. 

Any one who will examine the old receipts, amounting 
to several hundreds, collected together in Dr. Warner's 
Antiquitates CulinaricBj will feel tiaat even five centuries 
ago, when the cookery books were compiled, maw in the 
sense of fowl was altogether obsolete as a simple word, 
and as part of a compound was archaic, scarcely if at all 
understood, and easily corruptible. It was then as now 



Galliviawfrey 209 



in the receipts of the kitchen : there were new-fangled 
names for old receipts, and there were old, unintelligible, 
corrupt names for receipts couched in the current language. 
Thus we have Douce Ame as the name for a dish of 
minced fowl exactly like those already described. Re- 
membering that in those days the mute e had a decided 
pronunciation almost like an 0, it is difficult to escape the 
suggestion that Douce Ame was a courtly attempt to put 
a pretty meaning into a phrase which, as involving the 
word ma or maw — ^let us, to be definite, say Galima — had 
become unintelligible and perhaps vulgar. This becomes all 
the more probable when we look into the Sauce Madame. 
Sauce Madame was a goose. Let no one be misled 
by the word sauce. It was not then, as now, strictly a 
noun ; it was hovering between a noun and an adjective, 
being used in the sense of its original salsa, and like the 
first syllables of salmagundi, salmi, salpicon, saugrenu, 
saupiquei, etc. The word, therefore, had the force of 
sauced Madame, and Madame was a goose. The name 
was evidently invented to endue with a new and pleasant 
meaning some word on a par with mawfrey, matias, ma- 
gundi, mawmene, and malachi, which had become stale 
and obscure. Probably that word was malachi, mispro- 
nounced maladi, confounded with my lady and translated 
madame. The following is the receipt for Sauce Madame : 
" Take sage, parsley, hyssop, and savory, quinces and 
pears, garlic and grapes, and fill the geese therewith, and 
sew the hole that no grease come out ; and roast them 
well, and keep the grease that falleth thereof. Take 
galintine and grease and do in a posnet [porringer]. 
When the geese be roasted enough take and smite them in 
pieces. And take that that is within and do it in a posnet^ 
and put therein wine if it be too thick. Do thereto powder 
of galingale, powder douce and salt, and boil the sauce 
and dress the geese in dishes and lay the sowe (sauce) 
onward." This is all fiiirly expressad in the language of 

14 



2 1 o Gallimawfrey 



the time, and when we expect to read for the title of it 
Hashed Goose, or something equivalent, we find the enigma 
of Sauce Madame. Why this meaningless French title ? 
The title first appears in a French cookery book — ^that of 
Taillevent, which was written twenty or thirty years before 
the cooks of Richard of Bordeaux set to work ; and we 
may therefore conclude that it was the attempt of a 
Frenchman to give some appearance of sense to an older 
English title — Malachi — which had become dark to the 
English, and to Frenchmen wholly unmeaning. The same 
thing occurred in the case of the Sauce Robert. The 
English cooks had their Roebroth or Roebrewit — that is, 
a stew of roebuck with a peculiar sauce. The Frendi 
cook Taillevent did not understand the word, determined 
to put a meaning into it, and made it Robert So we 
have now the Sauce Robert as something distinct from 
Roebuck Sauce. 

We have next to deal with Miching Malicho. It will be 
remembered that before the mimic play begins in Hamlet^ 
there is a dumb show in which the spectators are treated to 
a revelation of the murder which had been committed and 
of the love which the murderer made to the dead man*s 
wife. There occurs the followino: dialoorue : — 

Ophelia. — What means this, my lord ? 

Hamlet — Many, this is miching malicho : it means mischief. 

Ophelia. — Belike this show imports the argument of the play. 

Ophelia answers, and answers truly, her own question : but 
what is the meaning of Hamlet's answer ? The explanation 
of the commentators is far from satisfactory. They say 
that niich is an old English verb meaning to lurk, and that 
there is a Spanish word malheco meaning a crime. Ham- 
let's reply therefere would come to the truism — " Marry, 
this is hidden crime, and crime means mischief." The 
explanation is not so satisfactory that we are bound to 
accept it, and I venture to suggest another — " Marry, this 
is cooking the goose: it means mischief." The difficulty 



Gallimawfrey 211 



in the way of this interpretation lies not with malicho, 
which, after the accoant above rendered of Malachi and 
Madame, ought to be plain enough, but with miching. 
To mich means to lie hid and to muffle up : what has this 
to do with cooking ? It has this to do with it— *that the 
French have a verb mijoter (old form, migeoter), which 
means to muffle up and to simmer or stew, and to this day 
it is the common French term for slow-boiUng. A similar 
double meaning will be found in the English word coddle, 
which in the codling apple means an apple for stewing. 
But the word mijoter is evidently derived from a shorter 
one, which the French are at theii* wits' end to discover, 
and which for want of a better they take to be mie or migey 
a crumb of bread. Now here is a much more likely root, 
the English mich or miche, which has been long known in 
one of the senses of the French mijoter — to lie hid, to 
nurse up, but which has not hitherto been found in the 
more common sense of stewing or simmering. Is it un- 
reasonable to suggest that it had this sense ? that we have 
indications of it in other English words^ as mishmash and 
mess, as well as in the German meischen^ to stir the malt 
in hot water ? and that we have it in full bloom in Hamlet's 
phrase of miching malicho^cooking the goose and settling 
the hash ? 

And now for Blancmanger, a word which is as different 
from what it must have been originally as the thing we thus 
name — a jelly of isinglass, almonds, water and sugar — is 
from the original mess, a fowl pounded in milk, rice and 
syrup, or in almonds, rice, broth and sugar. It is indiffe- 
rent whether we take for analysis the word as we now 
write it — Blancmanger, or as it was more anciently 
written — Blanc Mangier or Blanc Mengier ; but at least it 
will be useful to bear in mind the older spelling. And this 
being premised, I proceed to show that the word is resolv- 
able into Blanc Ma-en-sire, and means white fowl-in-syrup 
— the whiteness referring not to the fowl by itself, but to 



212 Gallimawfrey 



the fowl-in-the-syrup. There will be no difficulty in making 
this good ; but before going into the proof of it, observe 
that Ma-en-sire, if this be indeed the original expression, 
would naturally become slurred into mangier, through 
contraction of the vowels and through the nasal n joining 
with the sh sound of sire to form g. Independently of the 
fact that the first syllable of syrup is connected with the 
first syllable of sherbet, we know that in a number of old 
French words there was a tendencv in the sibilant to 
become in England and Northern France thickened into 
sh and ch : thus cive became chive, and we have such words 
as sure and sugar pronounced shure and shugar. Ma-en- 
sire would therefore very easily run into mangier and 
mengier. 

But was the word re^iUy Blanc Ma-en-sire ? It is not to 
be found in this particular form, which must have been 
very ancient ; but there is a considerable number of other 
words and phrases for the same thing perfectly parallel to 
it, and making it as unreasonable to doubt that it (that is, 
Blanc Ma-en-sire) is identical with Blanc Mangier as it 
would be to doubt that daisy is day's eye and foxglove is 
folk's glove. Here follow two receipts in succession ; and 
though they show differences of detail, I defy the reader to 
discover any essential difference between them. 

Number one : — 

" Put rice in water all a night, and at morrow wash 
them clean. Afterwards put them to the fires fort [strong] 
that they burst, and- not too much. Then take brawn of 
capons or of hens sodden and draw it small. After take 
milk of almonds and put it to the rice and boil it, and when 
it is yboiled put in the brawn and alloy it therewith, that 
it be well chargeant [stiff], and mingle it [stir it] finely 
well that it sit not to the pot. And when it is enough and 
chargeant do thereto sugar good part ; put therein alnionds 
fried in white grease and dress it forth." 

Number two : — 



Gallimawfrey 213 



" Take brawn of hens or of capons sodden without the 
skin, and hew them as small as thou may. And grmd 
them in a mortar. After take good milk of almonds and 
put the brawn therein, and stir it well together and do 
them to seethe ; and take flour of rice and amidon [starch] 
and alloy it, so that it be chargeant ; and do thereto sugar 
a good plenty, and a plenty of white grease. And when 
it is put in dishes strew upon it blanch powder." 

Now the title of number one is " For to make Blanc 
Manger," and the titie of number two is " For to make 
Blanc Desire." This Blanc Desire is but a variety of Blanc 
Manger — a fowl served in a syrup whitened with almonds^ 
-with rice and sometimes with milk. It is to be presumed 
that the original word Blanc de Sire had become doubtful 
and dim, and had to be touched up into Blanc Desire to 
give it a pretty meaning, just as in the same way Blanc 
Ma-en-sire had been worked up into Blanc Manger. There 
had been other forms of the word which still survived, and 
which perhaps were equally unintelligible — as Blanc desorre, 
Blanc desurre, Blanc de Sorry, Blanc de Surry, and Blanc 
Surry — all for a fowl in syrup. Surry was. one of the old 
names for Syria — 

They drew up sail of brighte hew, 
The wind them aeon to Surry blew, — 

and syrup was at one time known/ as the Syrian juice. 
The name Blanc Desire, therefore, which is so common, 
meant white of sire or syrup, and though strictly speaking 
it belonged not to the fowl, but to the sauce in which it was 
served, it was used to signify a preparation which is not 
distinguishable from Blanc Manger or Blanc Mangier. In 
all the receipts for Blancmanger there is syrup, and here 
we have a parallel series of receipts for the same thing in 
which the syrup distinctly enters into the title. 

Further : although we have not yet found the precise 
words raa-en-sire save only in the contracted and corrupted 



214 Gallimawfrey 



form mangier, they were in a manner translated in the 
title of another parallel receipt — Capons in Confj (that is, 
confit), where, however, the confection was made without 
sugar. Here is the receipt : — 

" Capons in Confy, — Take capons and roast them till 
fhey he nigh enough : then take them off the spit and chop 
them in gobbets with broth of beef, temper them and do 
them in a pot with almond milk ; and do thereto flour of 
rice or bread steeped in the same broth, and draw it through 
a strainer and powder of cloves and of canel (cinnamon) 
and of maces. And take hard eggs seethed, and take out 
the yolk all whole, and cut the white small, and do it in 
the pot and colour it with saffiron, and let it boil, and dress 
it up on dishes, and lay the yolks whole upon and cloves 
therewith." 

K syrup had been used here, the title would have been 
Capons in Sire or in Surry, a more modern rendering of 
the archaic ma^n-sire. And the title of Blanc is excluded 
from it because it is made Tawny with saffron. These 
illustrations make it probable that the final syllable of 
Blanc Mangier stands for sire or syrup ; and it is quite 
certain that to the end of the reign of Louis XIV. the 
central fact of the blancmanger was a fowl, and that 
without a fowl it was impossible. May we not therefore 
fairly conclude that the indispensable fowl flaps its wings 
immortalized in the ma syllable of Blancmanger ? 

After all the facts marshalled in the foregoing pages, 
Mullagatawny does not look like a word that could present 
much difficulty. It looks — word and thing — like a modem 
version of one of the old receipts. It is a soup made of a 
fowl which has been "chopped to gobbets," which is 
mingled with rice, and which is made Tawny, if not with 
saffron at least with curry. It looks like our old friend 
malachi, simplified to suit modern tastes, and spiced and 
coloured with the curry which has superseded the older 
spices and colourings. But great authorities assure us, 



Garlic 215 

though without giving any reasons, that it is not an English 
Tirord at all, that it is not even an Aryan word, that it 
comes from a language outside the Aryan group — Tamil, 
and that it means pepper water. It may be so ; I do not 
dispute the point ; and only note that the ooincidence is 
remarkable of a Tamil name and a Tamil receipt for fowl 
broth which exactly corresponds, save in the substitution of 
curry for saffron, with an old English name and an old 
English receipt. 

Gabbube is a name in the south of France for a soup 
which is to be eaten with a fork. In heraldic English a 
sheaf of com is called a Garb. The wheatsheaves which 
appear in the Grosvenor arms are garbs ; and those who 
are curious in etymology will see in the term the first 
syllable of harvest Metaphorically, a soup with garbs 
in it, and requiring the use of a fork, took the name of 
Garbure. The later French cooks, who do not understand 
the meaning of the word, insist that a Garbure should 
always have crusts in it ; but this is arbitrary. A garbure 
may have aaytbing in it that, like a sheaf, needs the use of 
a fork. 

Gabxjc is so little used in England that it seems of little 
use to refer to it. A recent traveller (see Monteire's 
"Angola ajud the River Congo," vol. ii., p. 240) writes: 
" Garlic I consider a most valuable article of food in a 
hot climate, especially eaten raw. I never travelled with- 
out a supply of garlic, and I found its beneficial efiects 
on the stomach and system most marked. When very 
hungry and fatigued, I have found nothing to equal a 
few pieces of raw garlic, eaten with a crust of bread or 
a biscuit, for producing a few minutes after a delightful 
sensation of repose, and that feeling of the stomach 
being ready to receive food, generally absent when 
excessive emptiness or exhaustion is the case." Yet it is 
against this same garlic that Horace exclaims, when he 



2 1 6 Gelatine 

calls to mind the tough digestion of the mowers — " O 
dura messorum ilia I*' The oddest contradictions arise. 
Henry of Navarre (Henry IV. of France) had his lips 
rubbed the moment he was bom with a clove of garlic — a 
time-honoured custom in his native place. On the other 
hand, garlic was forbidden by statute of Alonzo XI. to his 
knights of La Banda ; and Don Quixote cautions Sancho 
Panza to be chary of it, as unseemly in the Governor of 
Barataria. Honest Sancho must beware of the garlic which 
the king of France had rubbed the first thing upon his 
infant gums. To English taste the pronounced flavour of 
garlic is insupportable ; but many people do not know that 
some of the most successful compounds owe their excellence 
to an unsuspected undertone of garlic. 

Gelatine. — This is what Liebig says in his Letters on 
ChemiHry: — " It had been long observed that soup made 
by boiling meat, when concentrated to a certain point, 
gelatinises or forms a jelly ; and people without any 
sufficient reason adopted the opinion that the substance 
(gelatine) was the most important, indeed the chief, con- 
stituent of good soup. Thus it came to pass by degrees 
that people took to the gelatinising matter for the true 
soup ; and as manufacturers found that the best meat did 
not yield the finest jelly tablets, but that tendons, feet, 
cartilage, bones, ivory and hartshorn yielded the most 
beautiful and transparent jelly tablets, which were cheaply 
obtained and sold at a high price, ignorance and the love 
of gain exchanged the valuable constituents of flesh for 
gelatine which was only to be distinguished from common 
joiners' glue by its high price. It has now been proved 
by the most convincing experiments, that gelatine, which 
by itself is tasteless and when eaten excites nausea, pos- 
sesses no nutritive value ; that.it is not capable of support- 
ing the vital process ; and that when added to the usual 
diet it diminishes the nutritive value of the food Its use 



Geneva 217 

lias been shown to be hurtful rather than beneficial. . . • 
^We now know that the active ingredients of soup are found 
ready formed in the aqueous infusion of flesh, and are not 
products of the culinary operations. The gelatine of soup 
is formed by long boiling of the flesh from the cellular 
membrane of the muscular tissue. Since these things have 
been ascertained, the use of gelatine as a nutritive and 
invigorating substance has been entirely given up ; and it 
only retains a place in the domain of unscientific cookery. 
The gelatinous soups made in China from the air-bladder 
of fishes, and in England from the fiesh of turtle, are a 
fertile source of disturbance in the digestive process." 

Other experiments prove that though gelatine by itself 
may have no nutritive value, it serves a good purpose 
which is not yet understood. There is no gelatine in the 
blood of animals ; there is no gelatine in the milk on 
which an infant thrives. But there is a curious experi- 
ment which has yet to be worked out, and which shows 
that gelatine has its use in food. Bischofi* and Yoit 
took a dog weighing 80 lbs. — and that is a good-sized dog. 
They fed it on very nearly 18 ounces of meat a day, and 
at the end of four days the dog lost a pound weight. They 
then fed it for three days on the same quantity of meat, to 
which they added daily seven ounces of gelatine. At the 
end of the time, not merely had the dog lost nothing in 
weight, but also it gained four-and-a-half-ounces. 

Geneva. — This town seems doomed to misrepresentation. 
It gains credit which does not belong to it, and loses credit 
which it has nobly won. Because its name resembles that 
of juniper in Dutch — genever — it is given by many people 
to gin, with which it has nothing to do. Because it re- 
sembles that of Genoa it is in danger of losing the credit 
of an excellent fish sauce which is all its own. Also 
because in this sauce there is red wine, some cooks using 
Bordeaux make a variation of it, which they call Sauce 



2i8 Genevese Sauce 



Bordelaise, and other cooks using Bargnndj make another 
variation, which they call Sauce Bourguignonne. What 
between the names of Genoa, Bordeaux, and Burgundr, 
there has arisen a confusion, in the midst of which the 
claims of Geneva stand a good chance of being superseded. 
The sauce was invented at Geneva, for the especial behoof 
and benefit of the trout which populate the lake. The 
fame of Geneva for its trout is of old standing. " It is 
well known," said Izaak Walton, two centuries ago, " that 
in the Lake Leman — the Lake of Geneva — there are trouts 
taken of three cubits long (4|^ feet). And Mercator says the 
trouts that are taken in the Lake of Geneva are a great 
part of the merchandise of that famous city.^ 



9> 



Genevese Sauce. — Take half a bottle of red wine (the 
Genevese generally stuck to Burgundy), a chopped onion, 
two chopped shalots, a clove of garlic crushed (they prefer 
two in the South), two cloves of spice and a faggot of 
sweet-herbs. Put them into a saucepan, and let them 
simmer till the onions are done. Then add a ladleful of 
Spanish or good brown sauce. Reduce all to the thickness 
of a cuUis, skim it, and pass it through a tammy. Jjastly, 
boil it up again, add a pinch of sugar and (partly for salt) 
a good lump of anchovy butter. 

Variation First. There is a feebler way, which may be 
mentioned for the sake of economy, but it has the dis- 
advantage of requiring the fish to be cooked first before 
beginning the sauce, and it is possible only when the 
fish has been cooked in a court bouillon of wine with 
flavouring herbs and spices. Take two ladlefuls of the 
court bouiUon, add to it a ladleful of Spanish sauce, pass 
it through the tammy, add a pinch of sugar, and finish it 
with anchovy butter. 

Variation Second is the so-called Bordelese Sauce, made 
with Bordeaux wine, with no onion, nor sweet-herbs, nor 
anchovy butter, and not strained. 



Glaze 2ig 

Variation Third. The Burgundian Sauce is not distinct 
enongh to be noted. 

Genoa has given its name to a cake, and runs a race 
with Naples in the production of Italian pastes. Is not 
that glory enough ? What do the Genoese know of 
salmon and trout, that they should be credited with the 
sauce for which Geneva is &mous ? 

German Sauce. — See Allemande. 

GiRASOL (commonly called Jerusalem) Artichokes. — 
Put them for a quarter of an hour in water, with a pat of 
butter and a little salt Drain them, dish them, and pour 
over them some English sauce. 

Girasol Soup — commonly called Palestine. — Peel and 
slice about a peck of them. Slice also four onions and a 
head of celery. Sinmier them in a stewpan for an hour, 
with two ounces of butter, three pints of veal stock, nutmeg, 
pepper, salt, and an ounce of sugar. Pass it through a 
sieve, heat it over the fire, add a pint of hot cream, and 
serve it with fried crusts. 

Glaze has three distinct meanings. 1. To glaze a 
sauce, or boil it down to a glaze, is really to roast it. The 
sauce is reduced by boiling till it catches the pan and 
browns. Further explanation of the identity of glazing 
and roasting will be found in the article on Sauces. The 
process of reducing to glaze is the chief distinction in all 
the brown preparations of food as distinct from the white; 
and it is not only every day performed in soups, sauces, 
and gravies, but the cook gets ready and keeps by him a 
quantity of glaze, which he uses for finishing his sauces 
and anointing his meats. To make this glaze, it is found 
that the best substance is veal — the juices of which, being 
very gelatinous, take a fine colour and yield a rich odour. 
Take knuckle of veal and gravy beef together, but twice 



220 Goose 

as much of the one as of the other ; and make a good broth 
of this in the ordinary way, by adding vegetables and 
using half a gallon of water for every three pounds of 
meat The broth is then to be strained through a napkin, 
freed from fat, and put on the fire again for reduction ta 
a cuUis. When the cullis roasts, it forms glaze, and care 
must be taken that it does not bum. The glaze, if well 
made, is the concentrated extract of meat, and better than 
Liebior. 

2. To glaze meat is to paint it before sending it to table 
with a brush which has been dipped in glaze. 

3. To glaze cakes or other sweets is to coat them in like 
manner with sugar. 

GoDiVEAU. — See Forcemeats Nos. 2 and 3 ; also the 
article on Gallimawfrey. 

Goose. — To be stuffed with sage and onions, or with 
chestnuts. (See Forcemeats Nos. 6 and 7.) To be served 
with apple sauce or gooseberry sauce. A green goose is 
rarely stuffed, but his inside is pretty well seasoned with 
pepper and salt. Sauerkraut is considered a good garnish. 

Gooseberry comes under the name of Currant or Curran, 
but may here obtain a word or two for itself. It is known 
in some of the English shires under the name of Carberry, 
because it is red, or was known chiefly as red ; of Fea- 
berry, because it was deemed good for fevers ; and of 
Wineberry, because of the wine it made : why it has been 
called Gooseberry is not so clear. The older herbalists 
always insisted that it was so called because it was used 
as a sauce for goose ; and the analogy of wineberry and 
fcaberry would seem to bear them out. If this should 
not be satisfactory, we have to fall back upon the old 
English goTsty in modern English goraey in Shakespeare, 
go88 ; an etymology which will at the same time account 
for the Scottish name of the berry, which varies between 
groset and grosart. The Scotch, it must be remembered, 



Gooseberry 221 

are great in gooseberries. It is a northern fruit. When 
there was not a tree nor a shrub to be found in the 
Shetland ishnds and the Orkneys, there were gooseberry- 
bushes in abundance ; and it was an old joke against the 
Shetlanders, that when they read their Bibles and tried to 
picture to themselves Adam hiding among the trees of the 
garden, they could only call up in vision a naked man 
cowering under a grosart bush. The gooseberries of 
Scotland are the perfection of their race, and for flavour 
and variety far beyond those of the south — just as English 
gooseberries are better than those of the Continent. On 
the Continent they are little prized, and not very well 
known. The French have no name for them, distinct from 
that of red currants. 

The gooseberry in cookery is used as a fruit pie ; as a 
sauce for mackerel ; and as Gooseberry Fool. This last 
word does not mean a fool, but comes from the French 
fouler, to crush. The following statement is borrowed, 
with a few slight alterations, from an old book of mis- 
cellaneous receipts. 

Gooseberry Fool — " The good people of Northampton- 
shire maintain tl at all our best London cooks, in making 
gooseberry fool, are themselves little better than fools. 
There is no way, they insist, equal to their own, which is 
as follows : — After topping and tailing — that is, taking off 
clean the two ends of the gooseberries — scald them suf- 
ficiently with a very little water till all the fruit breaks. 
Too much water will spoil them. The water must not 
be thrown away, being so rich with the finest part of the 
fruit, that if left to stand till cold it will turn to jelly 
When the gooseberries are cold, mash them all together. 
Passing them through a sieve or colander spoils them. 
THe fine natural flavour which resides in the skin no art 
can replace. The skins must therefore remain unseparated 
in the general mash. Sweeten with fine powdered sugar, 



222 Gourmand 



but add no nutmeg or other spice. Mix in at the last 
moment some rich cream, and it is ready. The young 
folks of Northamptonshire, after eating as much as they 
possibly can of this gooseberry fool, are said frequently 
to roll down a hill and begin eating again." 

Gooseberry Sauce, — Boil half a pint of unripe goose- 
berries, and having poured off the water, rub them through 
a hair sieve. Mix the pulp thus obtained with a pat of 
butter, make it hot, and serve it for mackerel. This is 
enough ; but a little ginger may be added, and taste may 
be consulted for sugar and for salt. The greening of 
spinach juice, which French cooks add, is very doubtful. 

Gourmand, Gourmet, — Gourmand is a word of foreign 
origin, but it is perfectly naturalised among us, for we 
understand and accept its meaning. Gourmet, on the other 
hand, is a good English word in its origin, but it is doubt- 
ful whether it will ever pass current among us in the 
sense w^hich the French have put upon it. The word is 
really a diminutive of groom — a young man, a lad. In its 
broadest sense it survives in bridegroom. It is peculiarly 
applied to the young man who looks after horses; and 
gromet or grummet is an old sailor's word for a cabin- 
boy. In French the word was transposed to gourme, the 
diminutive being gourmet, a lad in general, then the wine- 
merchant's lad, then a wine-taster, next a good judge of 
wine whether professional or not, and lastly any one with a 
fine taste and delicate in his feeding. 

There is such an obvious difference between the gour- 
mand and the gourmet, and it is so clearly possible to be 
the one without the other, that some people wonder at the 
difficulty of bringing the name for the latter into popular 
use. The fact is, that the words are too nearly alike in 
sound. To this it may be replied that they are alike in 
French as well as in English, and that therefore we should 
expect the distinction to be as easy in English as in French. 



Gourmand 223 



There is a difference, however. In French the words gour^ 
mand and gourmandise do not express the same amount of 
gluttony as do the corresponding words in English. Kings 
and queens of France, princes of the blood, and the most 
beautiful ladies of the court, thought it no shame to be 
gourmands. They took a pride and pleasure in cookery ; 
they invented and suggested dishes ; and their names are 
handed down to posterity in connection with the triumphs 
of the kitchen. The most delicate lady in France does 
not proclaim herself a glutton and need not blush because 
she enrols herself among those to whom the Ahnanach des 
Gourmands is addressed. But gormandising in the English 
idea is sheer gluttony — and no one dare own to it, however 
much he may indulge in it. To an English ear, accordingly, 
the word gourmet is too suggestive of the gourmand, the 
gourmand is too suggestive of the glutton, and the sound 
is altogether unpleasant. Therefore, in spite of all ex- 
planations, it is doubtful whether the word gourmet will 
survive in the English language, much as we need some 
such term to indicate a fine taste as distinct from voracity. 
English is singularly weak in this way. " Some people," 
said Dr. Johnson to Boswell, " have a foolish way of not 
minding or pretending not to mind what they eat. For 
my part, I mind my belly very studiously and very care- 
fully ; for I look upon it that he who does not mind his 
belly will hardly mind anything else." Here, by the use 
of a strong word which is identified in our minds with 
belly-gods and gluttony, the great moralist appears to give 
a gross meaning to what is perfectly innocent. For bellf/ 
say food or eating, which is all he meant, and no one need 
be offended. As some people can make love passionately, 
but cannot do it lightly and gracefully, so others cannot 
show that they are particular as to their eating without 
showing eagerness and greed. 

It would be a good thing if some English poet would 
invent a phrase to denote nicety of taste at table without 



224 Grace before Meat 

implying the rage of appetite. It is certainly odd that 
Englishmen should have such an exalted idea of the sense 
pf taste that they bestow its name upon the faculty of 
estimating all that is most sublime and beautiful in nature 
and art, while they have no name left for the fine appre- 
ciation of food, for the enjoyments of the table, for the 
divine art of banqueting, which does not confuse dining 
wdth gorging and the gratification of the palate with the 
repletion of a sot. 

Grace before Meat. — 

Some hae meat and canna eat, 

And some wad eat that want it ; 
But we can eat and we hae meat ; 

And sae the Lord be thankit. — Bohert Bairns. 

Grape. — Strange that the grape is of no use in cookery, 
save in the form of raisins, wine, vinegar, and verjuice. 
In its natural condition it is nothing, save when an 
occasional grape appears in a Macedon or medley of 
fruits. 

Gratin, au Gratin, is something toasted or baked so 
as to produce a surface that grates. A sole or a cauli- 
flower au gratin is a sole or cauliflower strewed with 
breadcrumbs or raspings, and baked in the oven to a golden 
tint. In strict reason, the phrase ought to apply equally 
to a sole fried with breadcrumbs. But language is not 
obedient to reason, and custom has ordained that what is 
called a Gratin shall be baked. 

Gravy. — The claims of Gravy are discussed in the article 
on Sauces. But a word may here be necessary by way of 
protest against gravy — ^which, even when it is good, is not 
always desirable. French cooks have a diabolical habit of 
masking all their viands — painting them with glaze, and 
anointing them with the royal sauces of which they are 
so proud. They will cover a slice of hot ham ydih a thick 



\ 



Gravy 225 

saace. Some one faas said that hot ham should never be 
«aten at all ; but certainly, if eaten, or if worth eating, it 
Tieeds no sauce — unless on rare occasions it may be a spoon- 
ful of champagne. But to have the slice of good ham 
covered with a thick sauce, which is partly made from ham, 
is atrocious. Also, as a rule, it is wickedness to drench 
roast game with sauce. Sydney Smith says, in describing 
a dinner at which he was present : '^ I heard a lady who 
sat next me say in a low, sweet voice — ^ No gravy, sir ! ' 
I had never seen her before, but I turned suddenly round 
and said, ^ Madam, I have been looking for a person who 
disliked gravy all my life ; let us swear eternal friend- 
ship.' She looked astonished, but took the oath, and 
what is better, kept it." 

It8 own Gravy, — The gravy which is served in England 
with roast meat is too often a mockery. While the sirloin 
is turning before the fire, the cook takes a boatful of boil- 
ing water, which she colours with caramel and seasons 
with salt. She pours this gradually over the sirloin, she 
catches it again in a dish below, takes ofi^ the fat ; and 
that is what she calls " its own gravy." There is none of 
the juice of meat in it save what may afterwards ooze out 
from the beef when it is placed on the dish and begins to 
contract by cooling. It is not merely in small and stingy 
households that this is done. It is common enough in very 
good houses; and there is probably not a regimental mess 
in the kingdom that is not served to gravy with the 
roast joint in the same way. I have seen the cook of a 
crack regiment take about a gallon of boiling water, and 
with it water several magnificent roasts, to provide gravy 
for the most brilliant set of ofiicers in the British service. 

Beef Gravy — the French Jus de bceuf. — Gravy is the 
result of two processes of cooking — roasting and boiling. 
1. Line the bottom of the saucepan with slices of onion ; 
spread over them a little beef fat ; on the top of this lay 

15 



2 26 Gravy 

about two ponnds of gravy beef cnt to pieces, and add a 
gOl of water — the bsef fat, wben melted, making witli tiie 
water half a pint of liqnid. Set the pau <• j u brisk fire, to 
boil sharply until the contents are web bicwned and tlie 
liquor reduced to a glaze. Watch carefully daring this 
process, which ia really a process of roasting (see Glaze), so 
that there may be no burning. 2. Then add a quart of 
boiling water, and leave it for a little, so that the glaze may 
have time to melt and detach itself from the pan. Afbet' 
wards set it on to boil with some salt, skim it carefully, 
and throw in a carrot, a bead of celery, both cnt up, a 
fnggot of parsley, a couple of cloves, a blade of mace and 
a pinch of 'pepper. Simmer it for two hours, pass it 
through a taimny, take off the &t, and the result ahoold 
be about a pint-and-a-balf of beef gravy. 

Veal Gravy. — Take two pounds of the leg, knuckle or 
neck of veal, free from bone. Put it into a stewpan with 
a half-pint of water, and reduce it slowly to an amber 
ghize, from time to time turning the meat and piercing it 
with a knife, to make the juices flow. This is the roasting 
process. Then for the boiling or simmering, proceed as 
for beef gravy, perhaps adding an onion. 

Rich Gravy. — In the foregoing receipts the process of 
making gravy ought to be clear, and other gravies from 
other meats may be made in the same way. A very rich 
gravy is made by combining beef, veal and ham in the 
first process of reducing the meat to glaze, and in adding 
a fowl or part of a fowl to the second process of decoction. 

Cold Gravies. — All these gravies turn to a savoury jelly, 
and are excellent with roast meat. But if it should be 
foreseen that they are required for cold meat, the beef 
gravj- may be stiffened by the rind of bacon or ham, and 
the veal gravy by a calf's foot. These additions, ho«* 
ever, are not to be made '' "' ' "  
roasting the beef or the 



Grill 227 

involve the addition of more water for the second or sim- 
mering process — say a pint ; as well as longer simmering. 

GR£ENiKa. — This is nearly always produced by means of 
spinach. Either a handful of spinach is boiled in the 
soap ; or as much as may be needed is passed through 
a sieve^ or brayed in a mortar. 

Grxsns. — See Cabbage. 

Grey Mullet. — It is a sore point with the red mullets 
that an inferior race with whom they have no relations 
whatever should swim the sea^ and be known to fame as 
grey mullets. Grey they may be, but mullets they are 
not. They are prepared for table as red mullets are, but 
have not the same distinction. As the glory of the red 
mullet is the liver, that of the grey is the roe, hard 
and soft, which is dried, salted and preserved on the 
Mediterranean coast in the form of a sausage, called botargo, 
much admired by topers for the thirst which it produces. 
So the fish, if it cannot create much appetite for itself, 
creates a great appetite for something else, and is useful 
in its generation. 

Grill. — It is curious that the most ancient and the 
most simple mode of cookery should be in some respects 
the most perfect, and in England certainly the most 
esteemed. The first cooked food that man ate was a broil ; 
and in England the steak or chop from the gridiron is 
more in request than any other form of food. Though it 
is the simplest mode of cooking, and does not need much 
skill, it needs more care than any other method of applying 
heat to food. The cook can turn his back on his pots and 
pans, his oven and his spit — ^but sure as fate if he turns his 
back upon the griU it will play him a trick. He has con- 
stantiy to be watching the fire to see that it is clear — and 
the meat to see that it does not get burnt, dried or smoked. 

First for the meat : the English seldom give it any pre- 



228 G^og 

paration for the grill except when it is to be breadcrtunbecL 
The French sprinkle it with pepper and salt^ and brosh it 
with oil or butter ; and they are right. For breadcroinbing, 
the French plan is to dip the cutlet into oil or butter and 
then to roll it in crumbs. The English smear it first with 
egg-yolk^ and then roll it in crumbs; but when this is 
broiled it forms too dry a crust round the cutlet ; and 
therefore it is always best after rolling it in the crumbs to 
sprinkle it with clarified butter. 

For the grill, it should be placed with a slant over a very 
bright fire. The slant is to ensure that any fat as it melts 
shall run away, and not drop under the meat so as to raise 
a smoky flame. The surface of the steak should haye a 
certain degree of firmness when it leaves the grill ; and the 
great artof grilling is to reach this degree — avoiding equally 
the flabbiness of a bad French steak and the hardness of a 
bad English one. The French rarely get this firm surface 
on their steaks, because they do not put them near enough 
to the fire ; and they do not put them near enough to l^e 
fire because they have laid down a law which is never to 
be infringed on any account — that a steak upon the grill is 
never to be turned more than once. In the English manner 
of grilling, the steak is turned many times (with a tongs 
let it be noted, never with a fork), and it can be brought 
nearer to the fire than a French steak and to a fiercer fire 
than the French allow to act briskly on the surface, which 
can be quickly turned so as to prevent burning. 

Grog. — It would be scarcely necessary to say anything 
about this, but that the French have seized upon the word, 
and given it a currency which it was fast losing in England. 
The French seem to use the word quite seriously ; in 
England the word has almost always carried with it a 
humorous under-meaning — a disparagement of the drink. 
There was an Admiral Vernon who was called Old Grog 
by the sailors because in rough weather he used to pace 



Gurnard 22g 



-tlie quarterdeck encased in a grogram or grogpan doak, — 
In French gros grain^ a coarse stuff made of silk and 
mohair. He it was who first served out mm on board 

ship mixed with water. The sailors after him called the 

-mixture Grog. 

Grouse — ^the finest of all winged game: nothing to 
approach it We cannot have everything ; and when we 
lament the lack of ortolans and becaficos let us remember 
that we have something still better in England — ^ihe grouse. 
To be roasted like the partridge, and served on bread 
toasted and buttered. 

Gudgeon. — 

"What gadgeons are we men: 

Every woman's easy prey ! 
Though we've felt the hook — again 

We bite and they betray, — 

sings the poet Gaj. But this is scarcely fair, for it appears 
that gudgeons are mostly of the weaker sex — ^there being 
about six females to one male. The fish has long been noted 
as .a dainty for invalids. It is a carp by race but a smelt by 
character, and is fried like the smelt, to be served with fried 
parsley. A house of great renown,^the Pavilloii Henri IV., 
at St. Germain, used to be, and still is famous for its fried 
gudgeon ; and the fish is so relished in France that it is 
sometimes served at the end of dinner among the entremets. 

Guinea Fowl, to be roasted, must either be larded or 
barded. Serve it with gravy apart, and bread-sauce. 
Time to roast, nearly an hour. As the Guinea fowl is in 
season from February to June, when game is scarce, it 
makes a good substitute. The eggs of ibis bird are very 
delicate. 

Gurnard or Gurnet is neither common enough nor 
interesting enough to deserve much notice. His name 
means — grunter, from the noise he makes* He is some- 



230 Haddock 

times called cackoo for the same reason. The ancients 
called him a Ijre, and sapposed him to be under the special 
protection of Apollo, l^ose who eat him can make a gaess 
what flying fish is like— for the flying fish, beloved of 
poets, is a gamard. So also are the sticklebacks, ^whii^ 
engaged the philosophical mind of Mr. Pickwick. 

Stuff him with veal stuffing, and boil him or bake him- 
But first banish his fins. 




.DDOCK is called by the French aigrefin— 
a sharper, an impostor. It is a very good 
fish notwithstanding. It has two black spots, 
one on each shoulder, which are said to be 
the mark of St. Peter's finger and thumb when he took 
the tribute-money out of its mouth. People do not adorn a 
bad fish with these fine legends. Some of the best haddocks 
come to London from Devonshire and Cornwall ; and the 
Dublin Bay ones are fiimons. They are very good boiled 
with plain English butter-sauce ; but still better baked, 
having first been stuffed with oyster forcemeat or with 
veal stuffing. Also a haddock makes one of the best of 
curries. But the Scotch are the greatest masters of the 
haddock. It is their fish joar excellence. They have their 
Lodi Fyne herring, it is true — but it has rivals in the Tar- 
mouth bloater and the Dutch herring. There is nothing, 
however, in the way of haddock that can approach the 
Rizzared haddock and the Finnan haddock of die Scotch. 
Nobody wiio has not been to Scotland in the winter time, 
or who has not deeply studied the Scotch books, can imagine 
to what heights of glory a simple haddock can leap up. 
There will always be doubts about the haggis or a singed 
sheep's head, but the Scottish treatment of haddock is 
incontrovertible. 



Haddock 231 



The Mizzared Haddock of the Waverley Novels. — The 
haddocks (similarlj also whitings) are to be skinned and 
rubbed inside and oat with salt In this courtly powder 
they are to hang for twenty-four hours ; but less time will 
do. Next morning, for breakfast, take off their heads, rub 
them with butter, dredge them with a little flour, broil 
them, and serve them with pats of fresh butter. There 
are Scotchmen who eat this for breakfast every day of their 
lives, and it goes &r to account for the great reputation of 
Scotch breakfasts. When an English cook broils a had- 
dock, she neither salts it nor skins it. The last of these 
faults is fatal. The object of a broil is to get the taste of 
fire upon the food which is to be eaten — ^the toasted flavour. 
The broiled flesh of a haddock is delicious ; the broiled 
skin is worthless, and nobody eats it. 

Finnan Haddock. — Finnan is a hamlet about six miles 
from Aberdeen — and the humble fishermen of this little 
straggling hamlet have perhaps done more for the happi- 
ness of mankind than all the &st clippers of the port of 
Aberdeen that scour the seas for a first cargo of tea, or 
than all die learned professors of King's College and 
Marischal College. It is kindly ordered that happiness 
should be the result of very simple arrangements, and not 
of gigantic efforts. What joyous breakfasts among Scot- 
tish hills, what jovial suppers at untimely hours in London 
streets, have been the result of the Finnan haddock ! Well 
may Sir Walter Scott describe it as incompa^ble 1 But 
see that it be cooked in the Scotch manner — ^that is, skinned. 
The Scotch gentlemen dispense with their breeches ; the 
Scotch haddocks dispense with their coats. We must 
have the nude simplicity of these gentle hyperboreans. 
English cooks sometimes complain that it is not so easy to 
skin Finnan haddocks. It is the modesty of the creatures^ 
and there is all the greater reason to make them unrobe. 
When they have parted with their garments, they are to be 



232 Haggis 

rubbed with butter, broiled, and served with pats of cold \ 

fresh butter. 

Haoois. — The Scotch woidd never forgive us if their 
national dish should be left out of the list of good things. 
Few English cooks, however, would dare to attempt a 
haggis, even with the most elaborate receipt before them. 
Therefore if anybody wishes to taste of the mighij Cale- 
donian pudding which Bums calls the '' Great Chieftain 
of the Pudding race," he had better send to Edinburgh 
or Glasgow for it. The pudding is a great traveller, 
does not suffer from travelling, and heats up .with a most 
lordly grace. The Londoner can always order it at 
St. James's Hall. Mr. Grieve, as a worthy Scot, proud 
of his native heath and his Scottish mutton — from the 
inward parts of which the haggis takes its rise — will be 
only too pleased to make known the boast of his country 
to ignorant Southerners. 

Still, for the benefit of the canny Scots who are scat- 
tered over the world, and who may be found eating sheep's 
head and every other morsel of the mutton on the South 
Seas, on the African sands, and on the Himalayan summits, 
I append a grand receipt for the Haggis furnished by 
Meg Dods. This receipt is historical, and is the result 
of a competition of Haggises held in Edinburgh. The 
Haggis herein described gained the first prize ; the second 
being adjudged to one superintended by Christopher North, 
of Ebony fame. 

The Edinburgh receipt. — "Clean a fat sheep's pluck 
thoroughly. Make incisions in the heart and liver, to 
allow the blood to flow out, and parboil the whole, letting 
the windpipe lie over the side of the pot to permit the 
phlegm and blood to disgorge from the lungs. The water 
may be changed after ten minutes' boiling for fresh water. 
The lights cannot be overboiled. A half-hour's boiling 
will be sufficient for the rest ; but throw back the half of 



. 



Hake 233 

"the liver to boil till when cold it will grate easily. Take 
"tlie hearty the half of the liver and part of the lights/ trim- 
i:xiing awaj all skins and black-looking parts, and mince 
them together finely. Mince also a pound of good beef 
suet. Grate the oiher half of the liver. Have four mild 
large onions peeled^ scalded, and minced, to mix with the 
haggis-mince. Have also ready some finely ground oat- 
meal toasted slowly before the fire, till it is of a light-brown 
colour and perfectly nutty and dry. A large teacupful 
of meal will do for this quantity of meat. Spread the 
mince on a board and strew the meal lightly over it, with 
a high seasoning of black pepper, salt, and a little cayenne, 
first well mixed. Have a haggis-bag (that is, a sheep's 
paunch) perfectly clean, and see that there be no thin part 
in it, else your whole labour will be lost by its bursting. 
Some cooks use two bags or a cloth as an outer case. Put 
the meat in the bag with half a pint of good beef gravy or 
as much strong stock. Be careful not to fill the bag too 
full, but allow the meal and meat room to swell. Add the 
juice of a lemon or a little good vinegar. Press out 
the air and sew up the bag. Prick it with a long needle 
when it first swells in the pot, to prevent bursting. Let it 
boil slowly for three hours if large. 

" Observations. A haggis boiled for two hours may be 
kept for a week or two, and when cold gets so firm that 
haggises are often sent from Scotland to distant countries. 
They must in this case be made very dry, and covered with 
oatmeal ; nor will a haggis keep so well if there is onion 
put to it For some tastes the above receipt prescribes too 
much onion. Haggis meat, by those who cannot admire 
the natural shape, may be poured out of the bag and served 
in a deep dish. No dish heats up better. A ragout of cold 
haggis, heated up in a stewpan in which a little shred onion 
with pepper is first fried, is better than on the first day." 

Hake is one of the cod family — a coarse cod. Very 



234 Halibut 

few come to London, bat they appear not anfreqaentlv in 
Paris ander tlie name of merluche or sea pike — wbich 
Eagllsh visitors take to mean haddock. The French name 
for a haddock is not merlache, bnt aigretin, sometimes 
spelt aiglefin. 

The hake has a peculiarity which gives him a certain 
Buperiority over the haddock, and indeed over all fish — it 
is easy to get rid of his backbone. After the fish is opened 
and deaned, as all fish of this kind are, t»ke hie backbone, 
from where it begins, between the finger and thnmb. 
Slide finger and thumb along the edges of the bone dowa 
the body as far as it has been opened. The bone can then 
be dra\vn oat qaite free from the fiesL Ton have there- 
fore a fish whidi, as the fins can easily be removed, is all 
fish and no bone, and which can be manipulated in a soap, 
in a stew, in cutlets, in curry, with an ease delightful to 
those who are afnud of fish bones. 

Halibitt, or Holibot, — The praise of this flat-fish has 
been sung by a true poet — Cowper, who grew rapturous 
over one sent to him by a friend, and named immortal 
probably because it was large and lasted a long time. To 
save the reputation of the poet, let us remember that at a 
period when people made their wills before they left home 
oa a short journey, he lived in an inland village where 
any kind of fish would naturally enough be a rare luxury. 
The most fitting appellation which has been given to the 
halibut is — workhouse turbot To do the creature justice) 
however, he makes a good curry. 

Hah. — Good, boiled ; betfer, baked ; best of all, roasted. 
But roast ham' is rare because it is difficalt ; baked ham is 
easier, and boiled easiest of all. 

Boiled Ham. — Soak an English ham for twentv-four. 
a Spanii 
oarefuU; 



Ham 235 

together with carrots, onions, celery, cloves, mace, thyme 
and bayleaves. For a very fine ham use a Mirepoix into 
which about a pint of wine enters, and add broth to make 
np the remainder of the liquor. For something between 
these two take a quart of okl cider, together with carrots, 
onions, and a faggot of sweet- herbs, using water for what- 
ever else of liquor may be required Simmer it or braze 
it very slowly indeed for four or five hours, according to 
size. Then lift it out of its pan — ^take off the rind and let 
it dry for a minute or two in the oven — after which it is 
to be trimmed, and it may be either glazed in the French 
fashion, or in English fashion strewed with raspings. If 
the ham is to be served cold let it cool in its liquor, then 
remove the^rind, trim it, cover it either with glaze or with 
raspings, and garnish it with aspic jelly and picked 
parsley. 

Baked Hanu — Prepare the ham as above, and let it 
simmer slowly for an hour in plain water. Then put it in 
a large baking-dish, with Mirepoix of wine and a little 
stock. Cover it over with oiled paper, and that again with 
a plain flour-and-water paste as for a meat pie. Put it in 
a slow oven to bake for three or four hours, according to 
size, and adding moisture if need be. Finish as before. 

Roast Ham, — Soak the ham, cleanse it, trim it, and 
simmer it for an hour slowly in plain water. Then let 
it soak for twenty-four hours in a Mirepoix of red wine, 
turning it occasionally. It is afterwards to be removed 
from the Mirepoix and wrapt up like a haunch of venison 
first with oiled paper, then with water paste, then with 
another wrapping of paper tied with a string. Put it into 
a cradle-spit, and with much basting roast it for three 
or four hours, according to size, before a moderate fire. 
Finish the ham as before, and serve it with a boatful of 
gravy made of the Mirepoix liquor which has been used in 
basting it. 



536 Hare 

Hare. — BjoosI Hare. — ^To be staffed with Forcemeat 
No. 6 ; to be barded ; and to be roasted on a spit for forty- 
five minntes before a brisk fire ; and during the roasting 
to be frequently basted with butter or dripping. Five 
minutes before the hare is to be removed firom the fire, 
take off the bards, sprinkle it with salt and flour, and baste 
it with fresh butter. When this froths up and the hare is 
brown, dish it with brown gravy underneath and currant 
jelly in a boat. The ears are considered a delicacy, and 
care should be taken not to bum them. They should be 
scalded and freed from hair before the roasting begins. 

Jvgged Hare, — Old receipt. Cut the hare into pieces, 
season it high, and put it in a stone jar or jug with half a 
pound of ham or bacon (fat and lean cut up together), six 
shalots, two onions, and some thyme, parsley, savory, 
marjoram, lemon-peel, mace, cloves and nutmeg — all well 
mixed with the meat. Pour over it a tumblerful of red 
wine, another of broth, and the juice of a Seville orange. 
Tie the mouth of the jar tight with bladder or leather and 
brown paper, and place it in a pan of boiling water deep 
enough to heat it well, but not to have a chance of boiling 
over and into the jar. In this situation the jug or jar is 
to remain three or four hours, the water boiling all the 
time and more added as it boils away. Then take out the 
hare, strain the liquor, skim off the fat, and add a thick- 
ening of roux. If in the meantime the hare should cool, 
put it back into the jug with the thickened gravy, and set 
it in the pot of boiling water till it gets hot, but by no 
means suffer it to boil. Serve it hot with slices of lemon 
and with currant jelly. 

Civet of Hare is practically the same thing— only it is 
not done in a closed jug. More liquor may therefore be 
used, both of wine and of broth, to make up for evapora- 
tion ; and the name of the dish is to be justified by serving 
up with it not indeed chives — which have very insignifi- 



Hare 237 

cant bnlbs — bat other small onions in great abandance. 
The pieces of hare are to be fried in butter for ten minates 
before being set to stew ; and so also the small onions are 
to be browned in butter before being simmered with the 
stew. 

Hare Soup. — The Scotch way — with blood : after Meg 
Dods. ^^ Skin and dean the hare thoroughly^ saving the 
blood. Cut a dozen or more of very small chops from the 
back, shoulders^ and rump. Put what remains of the hare 
and the bones into a pot, with four pounds of fresh shin or 
neck of beef, four quarts of water, a couple of turnips, two 
carrots, six middle-sized onions, a half-ounce of black and 
Jamaica peppercorns, an ounce of salt, a faggot of sweet- 
herbs, and a large head of celery. Boil for three hours, 
and strain. Brown the small chops nicely in a sautd- 
pan, add them to the strained stock, and simmer for an 
hour and a half. Strain the blood ; rub it with flour, 
rice-flour, or arrowroot, and a half-pint of the soup, as 
if making starch ; add more hot soup, and put the w^hole 
into the soup, which must be kept only at the point of 
boiling for ten minutes, lest the blood curdle. The soup 
may be further thickened with the parboiled liver, pounded 
in a mortar with the pieces of hare boiled for stock. When 
enough done, skim, put in a glass of catsup, and one or 
more of red wine, what more salt, pepper, and cayenne is 
required, and also essence of celery. Serve with tiie hare- 
steaks in the tureen. 

'^ Observations. Bed wine, in the proportion of a 
quarter-pint to a tureen of soup, is reckoned an improve- 
ment by some gourmands ; and those of the old school 
still like a large spoonful of currant jelly dissolved in the 
soup." 

Hare Soup, — ^The English way — ^without blood : after 
Miss Acton. '^ Cut down a hare into joints, and put into a 
soup-pot or large stewpan, with about a pound of lean ham 



238 Haricot 

in thick slices, three moderate-sized mild onions, three blades 
of mace, a faggot of thyme, sweet marjoram, and parsley, 
and aboat three quarts of good beef stock. Let it stew 
very gently for full two hours from the time of its first 
be^nning to boil, and more if the hare be old. Strain 
the soup, and pound together very fine the slices of ham 
and all the flesh of the back, legs, and shoulders of the 
hare, and put this meat into a stewpan with the liquor in 
which it was. boiled, the crumb of two French rolls, and 
half a pint of port wine. Set it on the stove to simmer 
twenty minutes ; then rub it through a sieve, place it 
again on the stove till very hot, but do not let it boil ; 
season it with salt and cayenne, and send it to table 
directly." 

Haricot is a word which in French means two dit 
ferent things — a savoury stew and a kidney-bean. The 
French etymologists are much exercised to explain how 
it can mean either of these things, and they are at their 
wit's end to explain how it can mean both. The explana- 
tion is really very simple and lies on the surface ; but the 
French have an old reputation for loving far-fetched 
etymologies, and they would be untrue to themselves if 
they did not lose themselves in endless subtleties to unravel 
the mystery of the haricot. In the seventeenth century 
Manage proved clearly that the word might come from 
the Latin name for a bean— /a6a, which might beget 
fabariuSj which might hegei fabaricotusy which might beget 
faricotuBy which might beget harieotus. Unhappily there 
was no authority whatever for the intermediate links of 
the genealogical chain leading from /aba to haricot And, 
still worse, the name of haricot as a stew was in existence 
for 300 years before any one thought of giving the same 
name to the bean. In presence of this fact the French 
pbilologers of our day have been driven to a new expla- 
nation. .It has been invented by M. G^nin, and it has 



Haricot 239 

been accepted by the leading French aniliority, M. Littr^^ 
a:s well as by the German authorities, Scheler and Diez. 

The oldest mention of the word is to be found in a 
oookery book which is supposed to bear the date of 1393 — 
Ije M4nagier de Paris. There is a receipt there given for 
^'hericot de mouton/' the first sentence of which says 
that the mutton must be cut into pieces. M. G^nin has 
seized upon this sentence and has connected it with a very 
old French word-^AaZtjfoi^ or herligotey which he derives 
from the Latin aliquot I Whatever its derivation, its 
meaning was a piece or morsel, and it had a corresponding 
verb hariffoteVf to cut to pieces. That, said M. G^nin, is 
haricot — it means anything cut to pieces. And this word, 
he continues, came to be applied from the stew to the 
kidney-bean, because, no doubt, some one saw a dish of 
kidney-beans cut to pieces and thought it resembled a 
mutton hash I One cannot always account for the play 
of fancy. A crust of bread is rubbed with garlic ; it is 
thrown into a chicory salad to give it a flavour ; and all 
the world (at least in French) agree to call it, for some 
unknown reason — ^a capon. And so, no doubt, for some 
inexplicable reason a dish of kidney-beans was called after 
a mutton stew — a haricot 

It is almost incredible that men of learning and sense, 
who call each other spirituel in quoting this explanation, 
should allow themselves to be deceived by such follies. It 
is all the more wonderful inasmuch as they cannot touch 
upon the question without using words which on the very 
surface contain the real explanation. They have always to 
begin by pointing out that a haricot of mutton is nothing 
more nor less than a ragoiit of mutton ; and yet it never 
seems to have occurred to them that haricot is radically 
the same word as ragoiit. In England, however, we are 
familiar with the fact that the French do not recognise 
their own words when returned to them from abroad. 
Ages ago the English took the French word bcsuf and 



240 Haricot 

turned it into beef. When the name of roast beef came 
to France the French did not recognise their own word, 
and for two hundred years they have been speaking 
of rosbif d'agneau and rosbif de mouton. It is not 
merely the ignorant who fall into such a locution : men of 
education, with a fine ear for the delicacies of language, 
such as Jides Janin, will adopt the blunder with childish 
simplicity. Now this is what has happened to them in a 
blunder of lower depth with regard to their word rago&L 
It came back to them altered from the G^erman frontier, 
and they altogether failed to recognise it. It came back 
to them pronounced as ricot. The vowel changes can 
easily be explained^ and will scarcely be surprising to us 
who have transmuted boeuf into beef. The only change 
of consonant, the hardening of g into c, is character- 
istic of the pronunciation of French on the Rhine. So 
far there is no difficulty. The difficulty arises when we 
have to account for the initial syllable of haricot. It has 
been shown by Mr. Max Muller that there are many words 
aspirated in French purely through the contagious in- 
fluence of the German pronunciation. Thus the Latin 
word altuB ought to be in modem French (mt: it is 
IwvX through contagion of the German AocA. Again 
the Latin ululare ought to be in French urhr^ or as in 
old French uller : it was Judler and it is Hurler through 
ex)ntagion of the German heuUn. But more than this : the 
word we are considering begins with r, to which the 
Germans gave such a strong guttural pronunciation that 
it might be represented in writing as kricot: and the 
French caught this up as haricot or hericoL There is a 
case in point. The French have adopted the German word 
rang and have caught it up quite correctly. But they 
have also caught it up wrongly. The guttural pronuncia- 
tion of the German r made the word sound like hrang, and 
they caught it up as harangue. So rang and fuzrangue, 
which are at root one and the same word; exist in modern 



Haricot 241 

French as two distinct words, all through the guttural r 
of the Germans, which seemed to make an additional 
syllable of itself. And this is precisely what has happened 
to ragoiiL It went over to Germany and came back in 
German pronunciation haricot or hericot, which was all 
the more easily accepted as in Provence there was a 
word fricoty which is still in use, which means, like haricot, 
a savoury stew, and which seemed to give it a sort of 
fraternal right. 

So much for the stew as» regards its name ; and for 
more of a practical nature turn to Ragoikt and Navarin. 
We have now to account for the name of the bean. 
And here the French have gone astray through a false 
notion that the word is still the same. Haricot, the 
bean, is a distinct word which has nothing whatever to 
do with a rago(it. It means a snail. There has been 
a peculiar tendency to designate this kind of bean in a 
simile. The ancients called it Phaseolus — a little boat, and 
Linnseus has fixed this for the name of the tribe. We in 
England call it a kidney-bean ; and the Portuguese called 
one of its varieties a caracol or snail, the Italians a 
caraco or caracoUa. This is the word which the French 
have transfigured into haricot and have allotted to the 
speoies. They turned the I at the end into t, just as they 
made apricoque into abricot and Toriole into loriot. That 
the initial should be transmuted into a simple aspirate is 
quite in accordance with the possibilities of a language 
which has chat for cat, and of a word which in one 
form (said to be Arabic) appears as garagol. Com- 
pare garb (a sheaf) with harvest. To one particular 
variety of the kidney-bean Linnsus gave the name of 
Phaseolus Caracalla, and the French recognise it as haricot 
limaqon, which is a reduplication of the original name, the 
meaning of which has been lost. Such reduplications are 
common enough. Thus in English we speak of a cockle- 
shell — forgetful of the fact that cockle (coquille) is itself a 

16 



242 Haricot 

shell. Or again we speak of a dog-kennel, forgetful of the 
fact that kennel (canile) is itself a dog-hoase, and that 
therefore to say dog-kennel is in effect to say dog-dog- 
house. 

Unhappily, in England^ the haricot is little known 
except in the unripe pod. It is the only vegetable which 
we eat in the pod, and the technical name for it in this 
condition is green haricots, or in French haricots verts. 
It would be more convenient, however, to speak of them as 
haricot pods, to distinguish jtbem from the haricot seeds 
which are also green, as peas or beans are, and not merely 
white and red. In England the only kinds of haricot 
that come to perfection are the dwarf kidney-bean, known 
as the French bean, a native of India introduced into 
England three centuries ago ; and the scarlet-runner, a 
native of South America, introduced in 1663, but so little 
regarded as an article of food that up to the end of last 
century it was chiefly used as an ornamental flower, or 
petted as a curiosity among twining plants because it is 
the only one which twines the opposite way of the sun. 
But neither of these is brought to such perfection in 
England that the seeds are cared for, and the seeds used 
here are mostly imported from France. Of these there 
are three chief kinds, which may be rudely described as 
four — the Green, the White, the Red, and the broad 
haricot of Soissons. It must be clearly understood, how- 
ever, that the first two are the same and differ only as 
green peas from yellow. 

1. Haricot Pods — what the French call haricots verts ; 
called also French beans, and, in old French, Roman 
beans. 

Plain boiled This is called the English fashion. Pick 
and clear of strings about a pound of them, cut them in 
pieces lengthways, and boil them in an uncovered stew- 
pan with salt and much water till they are tender. Drain 



-1 



Haricot 243 

— - '  ' ' - - 

them well in a colander, and when serving them put a good 
piece of batter among them. 

Tossed. Boil as before, and haying drained them 
thoroughly, toss them with two ounces of butter for nearly 
ten minutes on a brisk fire. Add a pinch of sal£, a squeeze 
of lemon^ and a sprinkling of parsley chopped fine. 

En Poulette, Boil and drain them as before, and serve 
them in a Poulette sauce without the mushrooms, but with 
a sprinkling of chopped parsley. 

In Salad. Cut them in diamond shapes, blanch them 
well, cook them, cool them, drain them, mix them with oil 
and vinegar, and with a garnish of chopped ravigote. To 
this salad may be added, in the Lyonnese fashion, slices of 
onion baked in cinders, or indeed baked any way. 

2. Haricot Beans, — These are the seeds ; first, the 
flageolets, which are green and are to be had fresh from 
July to October, or dried always ; second, the white 
haricots, which are the green ones ripened ; third, the red 
haricots ; fourth, the large Soissons beans. 

Plain boiled. If the beans are fresh they are thrown 
into boiling water ; if dry into cold. It was once the 
custom to soak the latter for a long time — perhaps twenty- 
four hours — ^in cold water before use ; but this was irksome, 
for it implied that we could not have haricots without a 
day's notice beforehand. It has since been found that by 
a particular process of boiling the previous soaking can be 
dispensed with. The art is this, and it applies to dried 
peas as well : Put the beans into cold water, bring them 
to the boiling point and simmer them for half an hour ; then 
put in a gill of cold water, bring the beans to the boil- 
ing point again and simmer as before ; every half-hour 
repeat the cold water, the boiling and the simmering^ 
till the beans are tender. Salt is taken for granted, it is 
needless to say. 



244 Harlequin Comfits 



Tossed in Butter, Toss them in two ounces of buttery 
a wineglassful of the liquor they have boiled in, salt and 
chopped parsley. Sometimes when tossed in this 'w-ay, 
these haricots are mixed with haricot pods — which are then 
called haricots panaches. 

ji la Bretonne, Mixed half and half with Breton Sauce 
and served with roast or broiled mutton. See Breton. 

Pur4e of White Haricots for Garnish. Boil them witii 
an onion and a faggot of parsley, which latter is after- 
wards to be put aside, and then pass the haricots and the 
onion through a sieve, moistening with milk or broth to 
help them through. Warm them up with butter, salt and 
a little sifted sugar, and keep them warm in the bain marie 
till the moment of serving, when they may be brightened 
up with another piece of. fresh butter. For a slightly 
diflFerent treatment, see the article Pur^e. 

Stew of Red Haricots. Let them be plain boiled, but not 
for nearly the full time. Then put them into a stewpan 
with about half a pound of streaky bacon in small slices, 
a pinch or two or flour, the same of pepper, two glasses of 
red wine, two glasses of the water they have boiled in, and 
simmer them for from twenty to thirty minutes. When 
all is ready add an ounce of butter and serve. This is the 
French idea of beans and bacon. 

Haricot Soups, white and red, are prepared like pea 
soup, for which see the receipt. The red haricot soup 
goes always by the name of Cond^, the white by that of 
Clermont. 

Harlequin Comfits. — Caraway seed coated with sugar 
of various colours and sprinkled as an ornament over 
cakes and creams. They are not much used now, and 
certainly not by pastrycooks who think of fashion. They 
have, in fact, become vulgar. But a rose is sweet by 
whatever name it is known, and whether it grows in a 



Herbs 245 

^rden or a hedge ; and these harlequin comfits, with their 
variety of pretty tints, pleased ns as children, and will 
please us too as men, so long as we retain simplicity of 
taste. 

Hartshorn. — How wise we can be after a folly has 
been exposed I We now laagh at ourselves for eating 
stag's horn, and imagining that because reduced to 
shavings and dissolved in water it gave solidity to liquids, 
it must add strength to food. It was the same with ivory 
filings. We who would have laughed at the notion of 
eating horn and sucking ivory, thought that water turned 
into jelly by one or the other must abound in- strength. 
And we who have eaten horn and ivory because they are 
strong are the very persons who jest at the ancients 
because they ate nightingales to make them musical, and 
at the French because they eat frogs by way of cure for 
croaking. 

Hebe — Jupiter's parlour-maid. Always, if possible, 
have a Hebe to wait. It is incalculable how much a 
pretty parlour-maid adds to the poetry of the table. 

Herbs. — There is a curious classification of gardeners 
which I have never been able to understand. A certain 
number of plants are called herbs, and they are divided 
into Pot-herbs and Sweet-herbs. 

Pot-herbs are — parsley, purslane, tarragon, fennel, borage, 
dill, chervil, horseradish, Indian cress, and marigold. 

Sweet-herbs are — thyme, sage, savory, clary, mint, mar- 
joram, basil, rosemary, lavender, tansy, and costmary. 

This list is taken from Loudon's "Encyclopaedia of 
Gardening," and shows the requirements of a modem 
English kitchen garden, from which it is needless to say 
that many plants formerly in use, and classed as pot-herbs 
or sweet-herbs, are omitted. The French have something 
similar in their list oi potageres; but the selection is widely 



246 Herring 

different. In either case the classification is not scientific 
and will not bear analysis. It represents an old-world 
arrangement which has passed away. 

Pot'herhs from Wild Plants. — Black bryony, charlock, 
oxtongue, and spotted hawkweed, to be used like turnip- 
tops or greens, in spite of the fact that bryony is commonly 
considered poison. Burdock and willow-herb have their 
tender shoots boiled and eaten as asparagus. Fat-hen, 
sea-orach, sea-beet, sow-thistle, and the stinging-nettle 
may be treated like spinach. Chickweed is said to be 
remarkably good, and once was common at table. Sauce- 
alone, or Jack-by-the-hedge, has a taste of garlic, and has 
some repute as a pot-herb. Wild rocket is something lik« 
mustard, and may be used either as pot-herb or salad. 

Herring. — Amsterdam is said to be built on herring- 
bones ; and the herring has certainly made the fortune of 
Holland. It is one of those productions, says LacepMe, 
which decide the destiny of empires. It is not much to 
look at, this little creature, but it is as the sea-sand for 
multitude, and the poets have discovered that they m€an 
living men. 

Ye may ca' them caller herring, 

Women ca* them — lives o* men. 

They cost men's lives, it is true ; but it is also true that 
whole nations live by them. The Emperor Charles V. 
made a pilgrimage to the tomb of the Dutchman who is 
supposed to have invented pickled herrings. He was riot 
really the creator of this commodity — ^but that is nothing ; 
what is admirable is the hero-worship of a great Emperor 
bending his head and casting his crown before the tomb of 
a herring-salter. This is a case of hero-worship which 
Carlyle has curiously omitted. We have heard of the hero 
as king, as poet, as prophet ; we have still to hear of him 
as a humble but most useful herring-pickler, adding to the 
Wealth of the world and the happiness of his people by a 



Herring 24 7 

simple but far-reaching and wonder-working discovery in 
food. lo Triumphe! cries the Frenchman Lac^pMe — "if it 
^vas a citizen of Biervliet who first originated the idea of 
salting and barrelling herrings, let us glory in the remem- 
brance that it was a citizen of Dieppe who first taught the 
world how to smoke them." Herrings were salted and 
smoked long before the . said citizens of Biervliet and 
Dieppe opened their eyes upon the fishing fleets ; but all 
the same the hero-worship of the Republican Lacep^e 
is as interesting and honourable as that of the Imperial 
Charles. 

The most varied accounts are given as to the time when 
herrings are in season. A great authority, Grimod de la 
Beyni^re, announces to the Parisians in his calendar the 
arrival of the herring in November. There are English 
books which announce November as the very end of the 
season for the herrinor. The fact is that there is more than 
one kind of herring. The common kind comes to our 
shores in April or May, and spawns in the end of October 
or beginning of November, after which it is good for 
nothing. There is another kind, which Yarrell calls 
Leach's herring, which is heavy with roe in January 
and which does not spawn till the middle of February. 
In the Baltic there are three distinct species — a spring, a 
summer, and an autumn herring. Practically we have 
the herring in England all the year round save the spring 
months. 

Fresh Herrings. — The best British herring by far is the 
Loch Fyne herring — and the most approved method of cook- 
ing it is that which is practised on the Clyde. A fresh 
herring is nearly always and everywhere broiled. The 
Clyde fashion is to broil or fry it as follows : — The heads, 
tails, and fins of a couple of herrings are dipped off. The 
fish when thoroughly cleaned are split open by the back 
and boned. They are then dusted with pepper and salt. 



248 Holland Sauce 



and enriclied with a little batter. They are next placed 
one on the other, the skins being outside, and skewered or 
sewn together. 

The English way is to broil each herring by itself, either 
splitting it and boning it, which is best, or leaving it entire. 
But in reference to any of these processes a question 
suggests itself. Do you, or do you not, eat the skin of the 
herring ? If you do, there is no more to be said and no 
fault to be found. If you do not, then why give the 
pleasant taste of broiling or frying to the surface which 
is to be rejected? Arrange that the taste of the fire 
shall go upon the flesh of the herring and not upon the 
skin. 

Salt Herrings. — These on the Continent are generally 
eaten after the manner of the Dutch — raw. Cut oflF head, 
tail, and fins ; remove also the backbone ; soak them for a 
time in milk and water ; dry them, cut them in pieces, 
and arrange them in a boat or deep dish, with slices of 
roasted onions and of raw apples ; add oil and vinegar, and 
eat. Sometimes, however, in France, these herrings, after 
being soaked> are grilled and served on a puree of peas, 
French bean», or lentils^ 

Bloaters and Kippers. — There is only one way of doing 
these, and it is perfect — to grill them k la maitre d*h6tel. 
But mark : the French remove the skin, and there ought 
to be a stringent law to this effect set up in all kitchens, 
and parlous punishment inflicted for its violation. 

Red Herrings, — French way : Soak them for some time 
in milk, and having ^viped them, place them in a marinade 
of oil, pepper, parsley, shalot, and mushrooms finely 
chopped. Breadcrumb them, grill them, and serve them 
with bread and butter. 

Holland Sauce (Sauce HoUandaise) — another name 
for Dutch sauce. 



Horseradish 249 



HoRLY — a la Horly — is a mode of describing fillets of 
anything, but generally of fish, fowl, and the whiter game, 
first marinaded for a couple of hours, then drained and 
dried, then dipped in batter and fried, then again drained 
and served with crisp parsley and a boatful of sauce. The 
chief Horlys are fillets of chicken and fillets of sole, and 
they are both done alike. The usual sauce to go with them 
is Tomato. For the marinade take either of the uncooked 
ones. 

HoRS d'(euvre. — There was a time when these little 
articles demanded a good deal of attention. They are now 
of the smallest account ; and are little more than the 
trifles — prawns, olives, radishes, anchovies — which keep the 
customer occupied in a restaurant while the dinner he has 
ordered is getting ready. The hot Hors d'oeuvres — as the 
Bouch^s, Rissoles and Croquettes — are now classed among 
the entries. 

Horseradish. — Old Parkinson said that it ought to 
be called Clown's mustard, " for it is too strong for any 
tender stomach.*' Nevertheless, there are many persons 
to whom roast beef without horseradish is nearly as great 
a failure as without mustard. It is scraped and served as 
a garnish. Better still, it is grated and made into a sauce, 
which is usually cold, though sometimes heated. 

Horseradish Sauce. — Grate a young root finely. Add 
to it a gill of cream, a dessertspoonful of sugar, a little 
salt, and rather more than a tablespoonful of vinegar, and 
mix all well together. Some persons add mustard. 

Another receipt — ^Add to the grated radish the zest and 
juice of an orange, three tablespoonfuls of oil, a table- 
spoonful of panada, a good tablespoonful of vinegar, a 
teaspoonfiil of sugar, and a good pinch of salt. Mix well 
tocrether and serve in a boat. See Polish Sauce. 



250 Hospitaliiy 



Hospitality. — But be not thou like the too flowery 
ChiDese, of whom the Abb^ Hue gives the following 
account — the hero of the tale, observe, being not a heathen, 
but a Christian, Chinee. " During the time when we were 
at our Northern Mission, we were witnesses of a most 
curious fact, which was wonderfully characteristic of the 
Chinese. It was one of our feast days, and we were to 
celebrate the Holy Office at the house of the First Catechist, 
where there was a tolerably large chapel to which the 
Christians of the neighbouring villages were in the habit 
of coming in great numbers. After the ceremony the 
master of the house posted himself in the middle of the 
court, and began to call to the Christians who were leaving 
the chapel — ' Don't let anybody go away. To-day I invite 
every one to eat rice in my house ; ' and then he ran from 
one group to another urging them to stay. But every one 
alleged some reason for going, and went. The courteous 
host appeared quite distressed. At last he spied a cousin 
of his, who had almost reached the door, and rushed 
towards him saying — ^ What, cousin 1 are you going too ? 
Impossible ! this is a holiday, and you really must stop.' 
^ No,' said the other, * do not press me ; I have business at 
home that I must attend to.' ^ Business I What to-day — 
a day of rest I Absolutely, you shall stop ; I won't let 
you go ! ' And he seized the cousin's robe, and tried to 
bring him back by main force, while the desired guest 
struggled as well as he could, and sought to prove that bis 
business was too pressing to allow of his remaining. * Well,' 
said the host at last, ^ since you positively cannot stay to 
eat rice, we must at least drink a few glasses of wine 
together. I should be quite ashamed if my cousin went 
away from my house without taking anything.' * Well,' 
replied the cousin, ' it don't take much time to drink a 
glass of wine,' — and he turned back. They re-entered the 
house, and sat down in the company room. The master 
then called in a loud voice, though without appearing to 



Hatch Potch 251 



address any one in particular, ^ Heat some wine and frj 
two eggs I ' 

^^ In the meantime, till the hot wine and fried eggs should 
arrive, the two lighted their pipes and began to gossip, and 
then they lit and smoked again ; but the wine and eggs 
did not make their appearance. The cousin, who most 
likely had some real business, at last ventured to ask of 
his hospitable entertainer how long he thought it would 
be before the wine would be ready. ^ Wine I ' replied the 
host : ^ wine I Have we got any wine here ? Don't you 
know very well that I never drink wine? It hurts my 
stomach.' ^In that case,' said the cousin, ^surely you 
might have let me go. Why did you press me to stay ? ' 
Hereupon the master of the mansion rose and assumed 
an attitude of lofty indignation. ^ Upon my word,' said 
he, ' anybody might know what country you come from. 
What I I have the politeness to invite you to drink wine, 
and you have not even the politeness to refuse I Where 
in the world have you learned your rites? Among the 
Mongols, I should think.' And the poor cousin, under- 
standing that he had been guilty of a dreadful blunder, 
stammered some words of apology, and, filling his pipe once 
more, departed. 

" We were ourselves present at this delightful little 
scene ; and as soon as the cousin was gone, the least we 
could do was to have a good laugh ; but the master of 
the house did not laugh — ^he was indignant. He asked us 
whether we had ever seen such an ignorant, stupid, absurd 
man as his cousin ; and he returned always to his grand 
principle — that is to say, that a well-bred man will always 
render politeness for politeness, and that one ought kindly 
to refuse what another kindly offers ; ^ otherwise,' he cried, 
' what would become of us ? ' " — Hu(!^ Chinese Empire, 
vol. L, chap. 7. 

HoTCH Potch implies confusion and variety ; and as 



252 Hotch Potch 



confusion may be infinite and variety indescribable, it is a 
word of wide application. The Scotch, however, seem to 
have set their hearts upon this word rhyming to their name, 
and have fixed it for ever upon a magnificent dish which they 
call a soup, but which looks more like a stew. It is a sonp 
of the class which the French call a Garbure. The principle 
of it and of the other mutton broths will be explained here- 
after in the article Scotch Broth. When Prince Albert paid 
his first visit to the Highlands he was profoundly interested 
in this great national dish — the Scotch Hotch Potch, ^ulch 
is devoured by rich and poor alike with incredible gusto. 
He made his first acquaintance with it on a hillside, where 
a herd-laddie was dipping his spoon into a tiii can. The 
Prince asked the boy what he had for dinner, and was told 
it was Hotch Potch. " And what is Hotch Poteh ? " said 
the Prince. " There's carrots intil't," said the boy, " there's 
neeps (turnips) intil't, there's peas intil't, there's cabbage 

intil't " The Prince stopped him : " Yes, my little man, 

but what's ' intil't ' ? " " There's peas intil't," continued 
the boy, " there's carrots intil't." " Yes, yes," rejoined 
the Prince, " but I want to know what's ' intil't,' " " I'm 
telling ye — there's carrots intil't, there's cabbage intil't, 
there's peas intil't." " Still I don't know what is ' intil't' " 
" Did ye ever hear the like ? " said the boy ; " am n't I 
telling you that there's peas intil't? " — and so forth. The 
Prince was not enlightened imtil one of his gillies came up 
and informed him that in the language of the country 
" intil't " means into U or in it : " There's peas in it, there's 
carrots in it." The following receipt is taken from the 
cookery book of Mrs. Dalgairns, which I always read with 
awe because the great Wizard of the North, Sir Walter 
himself, is said to have contributed to its pages. Who 
knows but this receipt came in all its robust simphcity 
from his hands ? 

" Cut in dice a good quantity of young turnips and 
carrots, and boil them gently, with one or two lettuces cut 



Indigestion 253 



small, the tops of some cauliflower, and a pint of full-grown 
peas in four quarts of boiling water for two hours. Cut in 
neat chops a loin or the best end of a neck of mutton ; add 
them to the vegetables with salt, pepper, and some onions 
cut small, and let them boil an hour and a half. Lastly, 
add three pints of green peas and boil half an hour longer, 
when it is ready to serve." In all two hours and a 1 a'f — 
the mutton being put in half an hour afl;er the vegetables. 

Distrust the English imitations of this receipt, which all 
miss the chief point of it — a superabundance of peas, a 
portion of them being put in from the first, and after 2^ 
hours' boiling being reduced to a mash. Compare with 
this the Flemish dish of peas and lettuce, which will be 
found under the heading Paysanne. 

N.B. — No barley. In England it is supposed that there 
must be barley in all Scotch broth. It is a mistake. Hotch 
Fetch will accept almost any addition except barley. 

Humble Pie. — If ever you should be told to eat humble 
pie, beg that you may be permitted to do so — for it is very 
good. It is made of the humble or numbles of a deer — 
that is, the inward parts. The Scotch make a wonderful 
pudding out of the inward parts of a sheep — ^the haggis. 




[NDIGESTIOK— There is no such cure for 
indigestion as that prescribed by Harry the 
Eighth and recorded as follows by Thomas 
Fuller in his Church History : — 
'^ King Henry VIII., as he was hunting in Windsor 
Forest, either casually lost or (more probably) wilfully 
losing himself, struck down about dinner-time to the Abbey 
of Reading, where, disguising himself (much for delight, 
more for discovery, to see unseen), he was invited to the 
abbot's table, and passed for one of the King's guard — a 



254 -^«« 

place to which the proportion of his person might properly 
entitle him. A sir-loin of beef was set before him (so 
knighted, saith tradition, by this King Henry), on which 
the King laid on lusdiy, not disgracing one of that place 
for whom he was mistaken. ' Well &re thy heart,' qnoth 
the abbot, ' and here in a cup of sack I remember the health 
of hia grace yonr master. I would give an handred 
pounds on the condition I could feed so heartily on beef as 
yon do. Alas ! my weak and queasy stomach will hardly 
digest the wing of a smail rabbit or chicken.' The King 
pleasantly pledged him, and heartily thanked him for hi^ 
good cheer ; after dinner departed as undiscovered as he 
came thither. Some weeks after, the abbot was sent for by 
a pursuivant, brought up to London, clapt in the Tower, 
kept close prisoner, fed for a short time on bread and water; 
yet not so empty his body of food, as his mind was filled 
with fears, creating many suspicions to himself, when and 
how he had incurred the King's displeasure. At last a sir- 
loin of beef was set before him, on which the abbot fed as 
the farmer of his grange, and verified the proverb that two 
hungry meals make the third a glutton. In springs King 
Henry out of a private lobby, where he had placed himself, 
the invisible spectator of the abbot's behaviour. ' My lord,' 
quoth the King, ' presently deposit your £100 in gold, or 
else no going hence all the days of your life. I have been 
your physician to cure you of your queasy stomach, and 
here, as I deserve, I demand my fee for the same.' The 
abbot down with his dust ; and glad he had escaped so, 
returned to Beading, as somewhat lighter in his purse, sa 
much more merrier in heart than when he came thence." 



Inn. — 

Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, 
^Vhere'er hia changes maj have been, 
Will sigh to think he still has found 
The warmest welcome at an inn. — 3hemi<m«, 



Irish Stew 255 



Irish Stew. — There are two possible reasons for the 
name of this dish. The first is Hibernian — it is unknown in 
Ireland ; the second is that the stuff of which Irishmen are 
made is redundant in it — ^potatoes. The Irish are not cooks. 
Thev are the most agreeable of companions at table, but 
they have done nothing to furnish the table except in the 
way of Usquebagh — water of life — which, however, it must 
be admitted is an immense achievement, worthy of the 
magicians, and proving beyond a doubt that in the olden 
time Ireland was the abode of giants. 

Irish stew is a white ragout of mutton with potatoes 
for the chief garnish. Most ragouts are brown — it being 
always easier to heighten the flavour of a sauce by 
browning it than by trusting to mere decoction. What is 
called the haricot of mutton, for example, is browned. 
The beautiful simplicity of the Irish stew would be lost if 
it were allowed in any way to brown. The potatoes are so 
important in it that they are always double the weight of 
the meat, and the only other vegetable that they go with is 
the onion — which may be much or little according to taste. 
In the true Irish stew, too, both potatoes and onions are 
exceedingly well done, so that they are half reduced to a 
mash. 

Take the neck of mutton and divide it into cutlets, 
well trimmed of the fat. No objection to some of the 
breast divided into squares. Season the pieces plentifully 
with pepper and slightly with salt. Place the meat in a 
deep stewpan with six or eight onions : cover it with water, 
and let it simmer for half an hour. As Irish stew must 
not be greasy, the liquor is then poured off, and poured 
back again after the grease has been removed. In the 
meantime potatoes have been got ready, parboiled and 
peeled. They should amount after peeling to twice the 
weight of the meat. They are added to the stew with a 
pint of broth or else a like quantity of water ; and the 
whole is left to simmer for an hour and a half. See in 



256 Isiftglass 

serving it that it has salt enough and a decided flavoar of 
the pepper poL 

In Scotland they produce exactly such a stew, cover it 
over with a crust, and call it Shepherd's pie. In Devon- 
shire and Cornwall they make this pie, put apples into it 
instead of potatoes, and announce it as Devonshire, Cornish, 
or Squab pie. The Shepherd's pie of Scotland is evidently 
too farinaceous — potatoes within and paste without. The 
housemves of Devonshire and Cornwall are much more 
artistic in keeping to one kind of farina — the paste, and 
putting inside the pie only apples and onions. As the 
combination of apples and onions in the way of garniture 
has been long dedicated in England to pork, the Devonians 
and Cornishmen have also decided that their pie shall do 
honour to pork as often as to mutton — perhaps oftener. 

Isinglass. — The remarks of Liebig upon gelatine apply 
equally to isinglass, which must henceforth be regarded 
rather as a vehicle of ornament than as an article of 
nourishment. At least there is this in its favour — it is more 
delicate than gelatine. It is the best simple means at our 
command for giving firmness to liquids. It is made from 
the sound or swim-bladder of various fishes, but chiefly the 
sturgeon, which yields the best ; and the mode of drying 
it has given rise to a number of confusing names — as purse, 
pipe and lump isinglass, leaf, honeycomb, staple and book 
isinglass. All depends on whether the sound is opened or 
unopened before being dried, and whether, being opened, it 
is folded again, left unfolded, or rolled out. 

Italian Sauce. — Most of the cookery books are curi- 
ously uncertain about this sauce. Some make it white, 
some make it brown, and others make it both white and 
brown. It is a white sauce. People may say that they 
have a right to reproduce it in brown if they please. So 
they have ; but the result in that case is so nearly allied to 



Jam 257 

some oilier brown sauces that it seems absurd to make a 
coniiisioii of names for a trifling difference. 

Put into a saucepan a tablespoonful of parsley, half one 
of shalot> and another of mushroom — ^all finely chopped ; 
half a bottle of white wine ; and butter about the size of 
an egg. Put it on the fire to boil and reduce it well, but 
without browning it. Then add two ladlefuls of Velvet- 
down and one of double broth. Set it on the fire to boil 
and to throw up its scum. Remove scum and grease, and 
it is ready. 




IAM — one of the most unfortunate words ever 
introduced into the English language. Of 
foreign, probably Oriental origin, it has 
been only too easy to confound it in meaning 
with the English word to jam or crush together. The 
English make their conserves of fruit into a jam — some-' 
thing pressed hard together ; which they sometimes also 
most appropriately call — a cheese. They have no notion, 
for example, in making strawberry jam, of keeping the 
berries separate. They do not understand a medium 
between smashing the fruit and jamming it together into 
a solid cheese on the one hand, and on the other preserving 
it like bottled fruits in a thin syrup. In the one case the 
flavour of the conserve is overdone — in the other under- 
done ; and no justice is done to the fruit. There might 
be some excuse for such a treatment of raspberries, which 
easily break and run together. Nobody who has eaten 
the Scotch or the French conserve of strawberries, where 
the fruit is kept whole, will care to look at the English 
jam. 

EvQry rule has its exception. There is a good straw- 
berry jam to be found in London. The maker's name is 
oddly spelt — Buszard. There is a curious indecision which 

17 



258 Jardiniire 



interests the philosophic mind in ihat « which fears to 
duplicate itself, and that z which refoses to yanish alto- 
gether. There is no indecision in the jam, however — and 
I hand down to the admiration of posterity the immortal 
name of W. Baszard, 350, Oxford Street — ^the only place 
in London where strawberries are decently preserved. 

JardiniI:re. — It is an amusing idea, this of the 
gardener's wife, who is supposed to go into the garden to 
see her husband, who filches here a carrot or two, there a 
turnip, now an onion or a few pods of peas, and who 
returns home with a medley of small vegetables in her 
apron. A soup with her little collection thrown into it is 
called a soup & la Jardiniere (see Brunoise) ; and a steak^ 
a cutlet or a ragout served with a similar medley is said \.o 
be a cutlet, a steak or a ragout after the fashion of the 
gardener's wife. As the word Macedon is used in the 
same way to express a medley of vegetables, and as we do 
not always want the same combination of garden staff, it 
is a pity that one of these words is not used for one sort 
of medley and the other for another. But here we have 
two words for one and the same thing — any conceivable 
medley of vegetables. 

Jelly. — No doubt the counterblast of Baron Liebisr 
against gelatine and jelly was much needed. The world 
had an exaggerated notion of the value of jelly as nutri- 
ment. The counterblast of the chemist was aided by the 
discovery that gelatine is often derived from obnoxious 
sources — such as horses' hoofs. The consequence is that 
jelly has gone very much out of fashion. Tliis is a pity ; 
for whatever the chemists may say — and their results, as 
may be seen under the head of Gelatine, are by no means 
dear — the palate enjoys a good calf Vfoot jelly, and we 
are not yet so corrupted by civilisation that we eannot 
afford to be ruled by the promptings of nature. A sick 
man will often swallow with enjoyment a calf 's-foot jelly 



Jelly 259 

^wlen he can take nothing else. ^^ It cannot do yon any 

good/' gays the chemist, ^^ because I cannot find it a place 

ixi my scale of diet." All the sick man can say is — " I like 

iti — my stomach will tolerate this jelly when it can tolerate 

nothing else. No chemist has ever yet been able to express 

in fignres the good that coffee does, or tea ; and when I 

ean take a good jelly with pleasure, why should I refuse 

it merely because the chemist is at fault with his weights 

and measures, cannot find gelatine in the blood, and cannot 

tell what part it plays in ihe body, where nevertheless for 

spme useftd purpose it abounds ? " 

Calf*B'foot Jelly. — Jelly can be made from bones, from 
hartshorn, from isinglass, from prepared gelatine, from 
moss. The best, however, is made from meat, and the 
most expeditious from calves' feel Calves' feet are 
extremely useful in this way, and may as opportunity 
serves be helped out with knuckle of veal, pig's skin, 
or any other gelatinous substance at hand. Under the 
head of Aspic will be found a receipt for calf 's-foot jelly 
flavoured with vegetables, to be eaten with cold meat. 
The same receipt, barring the vegetables, holds for what is 
commonly called calf 's^foot jelly — a sweetened jelly which 
belongs to the entremets. When the calf's feet have been 
boiled down, and the liquor has been passed through a 
sieve as well as freed from grease, sugar is added, and 
spices such as cinnamon and coriander seeds. All this is 
dissolved over the fire, together with half a bottle of sherry 
(but some prefer rum, punch, or noyau), the juice of six 
and zest of two lemons. The liquor is then clarified with 
whites of eggs, and it is tested for strength. If it is not 
strong enough some isinglass is added, or else some per- 
fectly trustworthy gelatine ; it is then passed through a 
jelly-bag and lefl to set in a mould. 

English cooks boast of calf's-foot jelly as their own 
peculiar invention, and the French freely accord this glory 



26o yerusalem Artichoke 

to the English kitchen. But here is a refinement which 
must be left to the learned to decide upon. There is a sect 
of philosophers who declare that jelly in a mould is not 
nearly so nice as the same jelly broken up and served in 
fragments. 

Another refinement It makes a very pretty combina- 
tion with good cream, and perhaps it may be well and of 
good omen to give rest to the shade of Baron Liebig by 
adding the nourishment of cream to the no nourishment of 

jell.y. 

Again a refinement — ^but this is more for the eye than 
for the taste. Carfime introduced the practice of serving 
this jelly when flavoured with oranges in the orange skins, 
divided in half. But in orange jelly there is no wine, and 
very often no calves' feet. It is made mostly with isinglass, 
dissolved in a great deal of the juice and a little of the ze$t 
of oranges. 

Meat Jelly is chiefly made from veal, because it is most 
gelatinous. To every pound of veal add a calf's foot, half 
a pound of the leg of beef, and half a pound of the rind of 
fresh pork — ^in short, pigskin. Make a broth of this in the 
ordinary way, using the smallest quantity of water which 
is considered allowable — say a pint to a pound ; add vege- 
tables and salt ; see that it has been well skimmed ; simmer 
it for three hours ; and strain it through a napkin. If 
there is any doubt as to its strength for jelly, test it on ice, 
and if it is not stiff enough, reduce it. Lastly, clarify it. 
Here is a clear white jelly for use in all the white prepara- 
tions of food ; as glaze and the gravies are used in the 
brown preparations. 

Jerusalem Artichoke. — See Girasol Artichoke. 

Jesuits. — There is a strong feeling against these learned 
fathers, but whenever we feel inclined to denounce them 
let us pause — ^let us remember that they introduced into 
Europe and propagated the turkey : and let us reflect — 



Julienne 261 

-what would Europe, wliat would civOisation now be with- 
out this excellent creature ? What would become of our 
Christmas dinner? The English name of the turkey is 
wrong, and comes from an error as to the origin of the 
bird. The French name of dinde — that is, coq d'Inde, is 
right in that the name of Indies was applied formerly to 
America. We speak in England of the cinchona bark as 
Jesuits' bark. The turkey is in like manner the Jesuits" 
bird. 

Joint. — The Grosse-pifece of the French, or the Pifece de 
resistance, is too well known in England to call for any 
remark in and by itself ; but there is a controversy be- 
tween the French and the English as to its proper place 
in a dinner. The French place it at the beginning after 
the soup ; the English place it at the end before the 
entremets. The question has already been discussed in the 
article on Entr^s and Entremets. 

Julienne. — The history of the soup called Julienne is 
remarkable, though it is lost in the darkness of the past. 
It is the most popular soup in Christendom, and yet the 
meaning of its name is utterly unknown. For a time it 
was supposed to be named after some cook who invented 
it ; but it was in existence long before the time when any 
cook was in a position to give his name to a dish ; and all 
the best French etymologists have given up the word as a 
hopeless puzzle, I think that in the sequel I can give a 
clear explanation of the name ; but before doing so it is 
necessary first of all to note down certain traditions which 
have been preserved from immemorial date, though not 
always concurrently, in regard to this soup. 

1. There is a curious tradition about Julienne soup, 
which has been most carefully preserved, and which is 
so incomprehensible until we get the clue to it that it 
looks like a superstition. It is ordered that the carrots, 
turnips, and other vegetables in the soup shall be cut into 



2G2 yulienne 

loQg strips or straws. There are cookeiy books which 
make absolutely no distinction whatever between Jnlienne 
and other spring sonps bat this — that whereas in the other 
soups the roots may be cnt into dice or shaped into peas, 
or may have any convenient form whatever, in Julieiine 
they must be cut into little straws. The tradition is not 
invariably observed, and plenty of receipts (especially in 
Kngland) may be fomid in whic^ there is no mention of the 
vegetable straws as an essential characteristic of the soap. 
There were cooks who natarally argned that the shape of 
the vegetables could not affect the quality of the soup, and 
refused to bow to the superstition which compelled them to 
be cut into strips. Reason or no reason, the usage is almost 
invariable in France, where a master-cook would consider 
himself disgraced if it could be said of him that he had put 
carrots into his Julienne without catting them into straws. 
And the usage is so well understood that in prescribing the 
arrangement of other dishes, it is always enough to say— cut 
the vegetables as for Julienne. 

%. There is another tradition — that Jnlienne must always 
have . sorrel in it Some cooks neglect this, and fail to 
put sorrel in the Julienne ; or they forget the peculiarity 
of Julienne, and put sorrel into all the sonps of similar 
character. Francatelli is an excellent cook, but he baa 
not the historical instincts of a Frenchman, and he will 
tell his pupils to put sorrel alike into Brunoise and into 
Julienne, but not into spring soup. Frenchmen like 
Dubois and Bernard will allow to Brunoise the same vege- 
tables as to Julienne, but always escept the sorrel, which is 
peculiar to the latter. A Parisian physician. Dr. Boques, 
who had a great authority as a gastronomer, gave a warn- 
ing to the French cooks of the last generation not to forget 
sorrel in the Juhenne. " Certes," he said, " votre Jnlienne 
serait manquee, si I'on y avait oubli^ I'oseille." 

But even with these traditions ringing in our ears, 
how are we nearer to a solution of the question as to the 



Julienne 263 

meaning of Julienne? We are no nearer to this goal 
xintil we make an assumption — namely^ that the sorrel 
proper to Julienne is not the common sorrel but wood- 
sorreL It is an assumption suggested by the earliest 
luiown receipt for making the soup. We are told to take 
each sorrel leaf and give it two cuts of the knife. Why 
two cuts, and only two ? Two cuts administered to each 
sorrel leaf will divide it into three and suggest the trefoil 
of the woodsorrel. The common sorrel which is used in 
our kitchens is a sort of dock. The woodsorrel has a more 
delicate acid^ is said to be more wholesome, and belongs to 
a different family. It is not much used in cookery, but it is 
still classed among pot-herbs both by the French and by 
the English. Now this woodsorrel has many names. lu 
France it is known as la petite oseille, I'oseille h, trois 
ieuilles, trifle aigre, surelle, herbe de boeuf, and pain de 
coucou. In England it is known as woodsorrel, stubwort, 
sour trefoil, and cuckoo's meat. But over and above these 
names there is another, common to both countries and 
belonging also to Italy and to Spain — Alleluia or Allelujah. 
There is a tradition that the woodsorrel is the true and 
original shamrock, and that when St. Patrick beheld this 
emblem of the Trinity in his favoured island he fell to 
praising God. It is no doubt from a sentiment of this 
kind that the name of Allelujah for the woodsorrel arose in 
the south of Europe, in Italy and in Spain, and spread 
northward to France and to England. But the name was 
subject to corruption. All persons have not the strong 
religious sentiment which would lead them to cry Allelujah 
at the sight of a sour trefoil. In England and also on the 
Continent the word was corrupted into Lujula. This cor- 
ruption got such hold of the men of science that they 
insisted upon its being the true word,'and the Pharmacopoeia 
of the London College gave directions for a conserve of 
woodsorrel to be made under the scientific name of Conserva 
LujvloB. In the south of Italy another corruption was 



264 yulienne 

produced : Juliola — little Julia. In France it was natuni 
that there should be a corruption too^ but apart from the 
name of the soup which we are considering we know not 
what it was. Is it incredible that the word which in 
England and in some parts of the Continent passed authori- 
tatively into Lujula, and which was transformed in Calabria 
into Juliola, became in France fashionable as Julienne? 
The French philologists may on this hint be able to trace 
in greater detail the corruption of Alleluia into Julienne ; 
but for the present there is only this much further to be 
said of it : that the process of corruption which ended in 
Julienne probably began in Italy and was foreign to 
France. It is one of the traditions of Julienne that it 
is distinct from the ordinar}'- French soups ; and probably 
the name as well as the receipt for it came into France 
with the Italian cooks of Catherine de Medici, who first 
taught the French the refined and scientific cookery of 
modern times. They would bring with them from Italy 
Juliola, or some such corruption, which the French with 
their wonderful habit of Frenchifying foreign names would 
transform into Julienne. 

Let it be observed, too, that in the above statement of 
the case the argument is put with extreme caution and 
needless moderation, for it assumes that Juliola is a cor- 
ruption and that AUelujah is the true name. Now the 
existence of the name Juliola is known only through 
Scaliger in his commentary on Theophrastus De Causis 
Plantarum ; and his assertion is that the Calabrian name 
Juliola is the true word, Alleluia being a barbarous and 
ridiculous corruption. His very decided statement is 
entitled to the more weight inasmuch as, being himself 
named Julius, he may be supposed to have inquired into 
the name of the plant with a special interest. If, then, 
Juliola be the true and original word, and not a chance or 
local corruption, it is all the more natural that it should 
reappear in French as Julienne. 



yulienne 265 

And now comes a carious point in confirmation of this 
"view. Woodsorrel is a small low-lying plant in which 
-the trefoil grows at the end of a slender tibreadlike stalk. 
Take a handful of these stalks, boil them in water, and 
this result will ensue : The leaves will nearly disappear, 
dissolved in the liquid, and the stalks will remain. The 
slender stalks in the soup became a characteristic of it, 
and people learned to see that Julienne was not Julienne 
unless the fine straws of the woodsorrel remained in it. 
The cooks recognised this, and when instead of woodsorrel 
fliey took to the use of common sorrel, they deemed it a 
point of honour to put threads of carrots and turnips and 
celery into their Julienne to represent the stalks which 
would be missed. There are receipts for making Julienne 
without any carrots, turnips, or celery whatever. These 
were introduced cut into threads or straws by cooks who 
felt bound to save appearauces and to make up for the 
want of woodsorrel stalks. 

With this explanation in his hands the reader can now 
understand what Julienne soup according to the original 
idea ought to be. It is a clear broth or consomm^ with a 
large bunch of woodsorrel melted in it, leaving the stalks 
to be chewed. It was probably found in process of time 
that these stalks were not too pleasant in the mouth, and 
they were replaced by threads of carrots, turnips, celery, 
lettuce, cabbage, leek, onion — whatever would cut into 
strips and could be made tender by cooking ; while at the 
same time common sorrel took the place of the Allelujah. 

The following is the ordinary modern receipt. Cut the 
red part of four carrots, four turnips, three onions, the 
white of one head of celery, and of six leeks, in straws 
about one inch long ; put them in a stewpan with a 
quarter of a pound of butter and a pinch of pounded 
sugar ; fry them over the fire to a light-brown colour ; 
moisten them with three quarts of dear broth or double 
broth ; simmer all very slowly on the stove-corner for 



266 Ketchup 

tiiree hours ; and twenty minutes before serving, add a 
cabbage-lettuce and a handful of sorrel cut in the same 
way as the other vegetables, and previously blandied; 
skim off the fat, and serve. 

If this receipt has a fault it is one which will easily be 
forgiven and can be soon amended. The sorrel in it is 
not sufficiently pronounced to represent the old idea of the 
soup. For modem tastes, however, there is probably quite 
enough of it. Still the cook must never be allowed to forget 
that the distinction of Julienne consists in being a wood- 
sorrel soup, and he ought to be reminded of this when he 
conforms to the perfectly useless but always venerable 
custom of cutting the vegetables into threads. 




ITCHUP. — No need to say much about this, 
which we owe, as we do soy, to the Japanese. 
It is a godsend to Englishmen, being not 
only full of flavour in itself, but the founda- 
tion of some of the best store-sauces — Harvey and 
Worcester — to which they fly when their cooks fail. It 
is the refuge from bad cookery. Pity that nobody 
seems to know how to spell it. Some write ketchup, 
others catsup, and I am told that the true Japanese word 
is kitjap. Here is indeed a puzzle for the spelling bees I 

Kickshaws or Quelque Chose is a name now given 
to any dish prepared with extraordinary nicety. People 
should be careful, and the name may be allowed to drop. 
It was a name originally given not to any preparation of 
the kitchen, but to the substance prepared. It was some* 
thing not to be named. And now that this kickshaws or 



Kidneys 267 

quelque chose is never eaten except by the poorest of the 
population, it might be as well to give up referring to it as 
a delicacy enjoyed by the rich and luxurious. 

Kid. — There are stories of kid being sold for house- 
lamb. It is sad to think what the flesh of this little 
creature will grow to when it becomes a goat, or when 
old enough to be weaned. Too soon it turns to wicked- 
ness and folly. While it is still a suckling, however, it is 
very good, and may be roasted either as lamb or as hare 
clothed with bacon. 

KiDKETS nearly always mean sheep's kidneys or lamb's, 
and these alone are of much account. 

Broiled. — Skin them, split them, and fix them on skewers. 
Dip them in oil or in butter, sprinkle them with a little 
pepper and salt, and broil them first within and then with- 
out They should be underdone ; and when served a piece 
of maitre d'h6tel butter should be placed in the hollow of 
each. It is essential that the cut surface of the kidney 
should be first presented to the fire. When it is after- 
wards turned away from the fire it forms a little cup with 
its own gravy in it. 

Tossed. — Split the kidneys, slice them, and toss them 
in two or three ounces of butter, with pepper and salt. 
Five minutes should be enough. Then shake a little flour 
over them, add a glass of sherry, another of good gravy, a 
shalot chopped fine, and mushrooms either whole, which 
is most pleasant (only in this case they have to be passed 
in butter beforehand), or sliced, which is least troublesome. 
Let them cook for ten minutes. Another way is to leave 
out the mushrooms and serve the kidneys with a border of 
mashed potatoes. 

Kidney Pudding. — Line a basin with puff paste No. 4. 
Cut up some kidneys and put them into it with steak, 
pepper and salt. If frirther seasoning be wanted take a 



i6S KirschenwcLsser 



hint from the faggot of Duxelles. Cover and pinch it ap, 
tie it in a cloth, and steam it or boil it for an hour and a 
half. 

KiRSCHENWASSBR. — This cherry-water is an excellent 
and wholesome liqueur made in the Black Forest from 
geans. It is sometimes fiery, and many persons are 
afraid of it who have no fear of maraschino, which is 
also made from geans. The flavour of the Black Forest 
cherry-water is, however, much more simple than that of 
the Dalmatian liqueur, and pleases the palate longer ; only 
to put the two liqueurs on a level for fair comparison 
it is necessary to manipulate the Kirschenwasser. Put 
some into a strong glass, or better, into a saucer. Take a 
lump of sugar, dip it into the liquid, set fire to it, and 
replace it in the saucer, so that the whole may take flame. 
When the flame expires and the sugar is dissolved, taste 
the cherry-water, and see if it be not superior to any 
Maraschino. It whiles away ten minutes after dinner in a 
pretty little blue-flamed game to bum the cherry-water 
and bring it to the perfection fit for my lady's taste. 

KiT-KAT. — Truly the name of this gentleman deserves 
to live, though it has had an evil influence on the mutton- 
pies in which he excelled. Mr. Christopher Katt — 
familiarly known as Kit-kat — was an admirable pastry- 
cook. A celebrated club used to meet at his house — 
Addison and Steele among the number — and took the 
name of the Kit-kat Club. Jheir portraits were painted 
by Sir Godfrey Kneller of three-quarter size — hence any 
portrait of the same size is called a Kit-kat. But the 
mutton-pies of Mr. Katt were so good that they have 
raised an unhappy prejudice against all succeeding ones. 
People always asked for the mutton-pies of Katt. The 
sound of the name lived when its meaning was forgotten, 
and no one now ever sees a mutton-pie without wondering 
whether it comes of cat. 



Kiimmel 269 



Kromeski is a Polish word, which means no more than 
the French croquette, and which in its first syllable might 
find a fair equivalent in the English crumb. If it were 
lawful to invent a word, it might be translated crumbikins. 
The kromeski or Polish croquette is made in the usual 
way with an addition. It is any croquette formed into a 
little roll and wrapped round with a thin slice of the udder 
of veal, or faiHng that with thin bacon. The veal udder 
(which is always best) or the bacon is boiled beforehand, 
is then sliced and wrapt round the croquette, which is 
finally dipped into batter and consigned to the frying-pan, 
from which it should come out crisp. This is the most 
seductive of all the forms of croquette. 

KuMMEL. — There is a class of umbel flowers, including 
anise, caraway or carvy, cumin, dill and coriander, which 
have long had a reputation for their pungent flavour and 
for their medicinal virtues — the chief of these virtues 
being to correct flatulence. Dill-water was famous at one 
time in England ; anise-seed is not unknown in English 
nurseries, and the Anisette of Bordeaux has a good name 
as an after-dinner liqueur on tiie Continent. Three hun- 
dred years ago caraways at English tables always came on 
with dessert, and were supposed to be carminative and 
digestive. Caraways in palpable form have now disap- 
peared from our tables, but only to return in the spirit 
— in Russian bottles labelled Kiimmel. Of all the liqueurs 
of this class, it is the only one which seems likely to hold 
its ground. It has a pleasant stimulating taste, and it is 
supposed to be wholesome. When Russian kiimmel is old 
it forms crystals at the bottom of the bottle. The name, 
which is Q-erman, is probably derived from a confusion of 
the caraway or carvy with its neighbour cumin. 



270 Ladies^ Delight 




[ADIES' DELIGHT— Put eight ounces of apples, 
eight of onions, and two of chilies, all chopped, 
into a pickle bottle. Pour over them a pint of 
white- wine vinegar which has been boQed with 
a dessertspoonful of salt. In a couple of days it is ready 
for use, and forms an agreeable pickle, to which oil may 
sometimes be added on the plate. Lady Harriet St. Clair 
gives this receipt as Gunner's Delight. Why Gunner's? 

Lady. — If thou be indeed a lady, remember thou art by 
name a cook, or at least a baker. La- means a loaf of 
bread ; -dy means a maid ; and lady means the breadmaid- 

Lamb. — There is no serious difference — none whatever 
of principle — in the treatment of lamb and of mutton. 
One takes, however, more deliberately to cold lamb than 
to cold mutton. And with lamb goes the mint sauce. 
Mint was a sweet but saucy girl transformed by Proser- 
pine into a fragrant plant, and the pretiy girl goes always 
now with the tender lamb. The cooks are generally playful 
on the subject of lamb. See the Epigram of lamb. Also 
when lamb cutlets are sautes it is most frequent to surround 
them with a border of truffles — which is called demi-deuil 
— a kind of half-mourning for the gentle creature. 

Lamprey. — Considering the ancient renown of the 
lamprey, one might expect to hear a good deal more of it 
than we do at modern tables. Dr. Badham maintains that 
the name is English, and that the English have imposed 
their name on the rest of Europe. One of the English 
names for a small river lamprey is pride, which has the 
meaning of prick ; and the word lamprey means a lang 
prey or pride. 

This peculiar fish, which killed an English king by its 
attraction, is found in the Thames, but it is best in the 



Larks 271 

Severn^ which it ascends in April and May in order to 
deposit its spawn. They are so rare at Christmas that 
they are said to be worth a guinea apiece. The question 
will be asked — Who in England eats lampreys at a guinea 
apiece ? It is an old custom for the city of Gloucester in 
token of its loyalty to present a lamprey pie at Christmas 
to the English sovereign^ and the fish must be got at any 
price. One would imagine that the kings and queens of 
England would prefer to have the lampreys when they are 
best — ^in April and May. 

The lamprey should always have the gristle which sup- 
plies the place of a backbone extracted^ and he may be 
cooked in any of the ways proper to eel ; but in memory 
of the orchards of Worcestershire and the whole Severn 
country it is usual in those cases wherein wine might be 
required to substitute cider — which is indeed often used for 
white wine with other iish. 

Lares. — What is the use of laughing at the French 
because they eat redbreasts, blackbirds, thrushes, the 
humble chaffinch, and the familiar sparrow ? Do we not 
eat skylarks, field&res^ and wheatears in plenty ? A great 
number of larks are sent to London from Cambridge ; but 
the chief supply for now 200 years appears to come from 
Dunstable. Why Dunstable? Is there any mysterious 
connection between larks and straw hats ? Why must we 
go to Bedfordshire for a lark ? Is it there and there only 
that the sky falls ? Wherever the sky falls and these birds 
are caught, the physician of Queen Anne^ Dr. Lister, like 
his royal mistress a great gastronomer, judged of their 
goodness by their weight. He laid down the rule, which 
has ever since been held sound, that twelve larks should 
weigh thirteen ounces^ and that if below that weight they 
are not good. 

'Rocat Larks. — There is a difference between the French 
and the English way — but both agree in taking out only 



272 Laver 

the gizzard. The French put the larks on a little larkspit, 
which, running from side to side, pins on them at the same 
time bards of bacon. The larks are then roasted brisklj^ 
for eight or ten minutes, and served upon toast The 
English season the larks with chopped parsley, pepper, 
salt, and nutmeg, rub them with yolk of egg, roll them in 
breadcrumbs, sprinkle them with oiled butter, roll them 
in crumbs again, run them on a larkspit, roast them for 
fifteen minutes before a bright fire, basting them with 
butter, and serve them with plenty of fried breadcrumbs. 

Lark Puddmg or Pie, — For the perfection of a lark 
pudding, go to the Cheshire Cheese, in Fleet Street, and 
and ask for one. The contents of either pudding or pie 
are the same. Take the gizzards out of two dozen larks, 
and fry them lightly. Then put them into the pie dish or 
the pudding bowl, with a pound of veal and another pound 
of ham cut into small coUops, seasoned with chopped parsley, 
shalot, mushrooms, pepper, and salt — which are first, bow- 
ever, to be boiled for a minute or two in a tumberfal of 
broth and with a tablespoonful of flour. Bake the pie or 
boil the pudding for an hour and a quarter. 

Layer. — Many an old-fashioned English gentleman 
will be glad to see laver mentioned here and to be re- 
minded of its excellence with roast mutton. It used to be 
common enough in London ; now it is scarce, though 
there are clubs in Pall Mall and private families that never 
fail of it. That it should fall into neglect is one of the 
unfortunate results of modern civilisation, which produces 
uniformity of fashion — the same cookery and the same 
dishes all over the world. It is a great boast for the 
French cooks that they have spread their system every- 
where, and no doubt they deserve their success ; but it has 
beefl one of the misfortunes attending upon this success 
that it has cast into the shade and sometimes into utter 
oblivion good things which happen to be unknown to the 



Leason 273 

French system. This laver is an example. The French 
Icnow it not — and for that matter indeed they are far behind 
Sugland and Holland in their knowledge of all marine 
products. When French cookery took form there were no 
x^ailways, and the great metropolis of cooks was too far 
away from the seaboard to enable them to do justice to 
sea-fish. England, being nearly all seaboard, was in a 
much better position to pronounce upon the way in which 
salt-water fish should be cooked. And here upon their sea- 
board the English can get any quantity of laver ; on the 
coast of Scotland there is delicious dulse : in Ireland there 
is the carrageen or Irish moss. These and other seaweeds 
that might be named are wonderfully nutritious, are 
full of fine flavour, and are to be had for the gathering. 
If the French cooks had made their mark in England, 
would they have let the laver fall into disuse? They 
would have mad^ it as famous as the truffles of Pdrigord. 
There is a charm about the weed which ought to have 
kept it in the front as one of the distinctions of English 
cookery. 

To prepare the laver, steep it in water to reduce the 
•salt Sometimes a little carbonate of soda is added, to take 
away bitterness. It is then stewed in water till it becomes 
tender, and can be worked like spinach with broth or with 
milk or with a pat of butter and a squeeze or two of 
lemonrjuice. 

Leason — the French liaison — ^is a name given to any- 
thing employed in sauces to give them body : such as 
flour, cream, yolk of egg, cuUis, caramel and glaze. It is 
sometimes also in English called Thickening. Grimod de 
la Beyni&re quotes with approbation the saying of a cook 
he kndw^ that the immoderate use of these leasons had been 
for more than a oenturv the charlatanism of the French 
kitchen. Calcined bones, burnt sugar, and torrefied juices 
— ^the wildest extravagances — had been pitched upon to bind 

18 






274 Leek 

sauces and give them character. Still these leasons have 
their appointed place, and Grimod had a right to add, "The 
art of leasons is one of the great secrets of the kitchen; for 
the grand point is not to make the sauces thick, but 
unctuous, and to bind together all the parts of a ragout so 
that no one shall dominate." 

1. Leason of flour, — This may be dredged into the sauce 
by itself ; but sometimes, to make sure of escaping knots, 
the flour may be mixed with water, milk, or broth, and 
passed through a strainer. Arrowroot is sometimes better 
than flour. 

2. Leason of B.oux is made of butter and flour — twice 
as much flour as butter. Mix them well and let them sim- 
mer on a slow fire till they turn a bright red — but beware 
of burning. The French have also their White Boox and 
their Blonde Roux. 

3. Leason of Butter. — The name is enough. But observe 
that it should be added at the last moment ; for the less^ 
it is cooked, and the more it conveys of its fresh natural 
taste, the better. 

4. Leason of Butter and Cream, — This also explains itself, 
alid should be left to the very last It is used chiefly in 
soups. 

5. Leason of Eggs is made by beating the yolks and by 
mixing them in a basin with some of the sauce. This pre- 
caution of a separate basin is to prevent the curdling which 
might ensue if the yolks were poured directly into boiling 
sauce. 

Leasons of caramel, cullis, and glaze need no explanation. 
The leason of blood once common has gone almost whoUy 
out of use, save with game — as in hare soup. 

Leek. — This was at one time so much cultivated in 
England that the very name for a garden was leac-tun, 
and the very name for a gardener was leac-ward. Still, 
however, the plant holds a respectable place in the 



Lettuce 275 

flATonring of soups. The Scotch have a soup — Cock-a- 
leekie — which makes much of the leek ; and in the French 
or rather Flemish kitchen the Leek soup and the Potato- 
and-leek soup (that is, leeks added to potfto soup) are in 
considerable repute. 

Lemon Sauce. — Put the thin rind of a lemon with three 
tablespoonfuls of sugar to simmer for twenty minutes in a 
tximblerful of water. Some persons think it enough to 
grate the lemon- with lumps of sugar — but this detracts 
from the clearness of the sauce. When the simmering is 
ended take out the lemon-peel and add the strained juice 
of the lemon. This is extremely simple, but it is nicer than 
many a much more laboured sauce. Perhaps it is not 
quite fair to add that it is sometimes supplemented with 
gin. To be used with sweet entremets. 

Lentils. — For a garnish or as an entremet to be cooked 
as haricots. For soup it is made as pea-soup and called 
Chantilly, but by rights it should be called after Esau, who 
loved it well and sold his birthright for it. 

Lettuce is not much cooked in England, and when 
cooked is not much better than a cabbage ; but when raw, 
and eaten in salad, it has a peculiarly pleasant taste, and 
has a sedative action upon the nervous system which makes 
one return to it eagerly, as one returns to tobacco and to 
opium. The chemists obtain from the lettuce an inspissated 
juice — called sometimes lactucarium, sometimes lettuce- 
opium — ^which is said to allay pain, to slacken the pulse, 
to reduce animal heat, and to conduce to sleep. When 
Adonis died, it is reported that Venus threw herself on a 
lettuce-bed to lull her grief and cool her desires. 

The lettuce is known at our tables in two leading 
varieties — ^the cabbage and the Cos lettuce. What Cos 
means is not very clear : it is supposed to be equivalent to 
the first syllables of gooseberry and horseradish, which are 
to be identified with gross, and mean big. The French 



276 Ling 

know this lettuce as the Boman, and there are two aooounts 
of its introduction into France. One is that it came with 
the Pope to Avignon ; the other that Rabelais admired it 
mightily on his visit to Borne, and brought it back with 
him to his native land. When the French make a salad 
of either lettuce, they usually add to it, by way of garniture, 
a chopped ravigote. 

For the mode of cooking lettuce, see the French way of 
cooking cabbage ; or under the name of Peasant, see the 
Flemish way of preparing it with peas. 

Ling. — James I. said that were he to invite the devil to 
dinner he would give him a ling's head, a pig, mustard, and 
a pipe of tobacco. His Britannic Majesty meant that all 
these were horrible punishments which might righteously 
be inflicted on his Satanic Majesty. If the Prince of Dark- 
ness be a gourmet as well as a gentleman, it is probable 
that he would have enjoyed his dinner. Many English- 
men would no doubt agree with the king in disparaging 
the ling ; but they are in error. Ling is the largest 
species of cod, and we generally find that the largest cod 
are the best. This great cod is certainly not to be despised. 
His head, his tongue, his swimbladder or sound, his roe 
and his liver are as good as in any cod. It is the liver of 
the ling which makes most of the cod-liver oil prescribed 
by physicians. Welcome the giant in the kitchen, and treat 
him in every way as the more familiar cod. 

Liver. — Tell it not in Gath — ^but yet it is notorious that 
there are three dishes which, if put upon the bill of fere in 
a club, are devoured before all else ; so that at seven or 
eight o'clock, when most members dine, there is nothing 
left of them but the tempting words on the dinner-bill. 
These dishes are, Irish stew, tripe and onions, liver and 
bacon. What a tribute this to the homely cookery of 
England ! We shall speak of this calf's liver directly, 
b^t it must give place to that of the goose, which in the 



Liver 277 

pies of Strasbourg and P^rigord has a surpassing renown 
as the most delicate meat in the world. 

Goofie Liver — Foie Graa, — " To obtain these livers," says 

Grimod de la Reynifere, "it is necessary to sacrifice the 

person of the animal. Crammed with food, deprived of 

drink, and fixed near a great fire, before which it is nailed 

by its feet on a plank, this goose passes, it must be owned, 

an uncomfortable life. The torment would indeed be almost 

intolerable, if the idea of the lot which awaits him did not 

serve as a consolation. But this perspective makes him 

endure his sufferings with courage ; and when he reflects 

that his liver, bigger than himself, larded with truffles, and 

r-lothed in a scientific p&t^, will difi^use all over Europe the 

glory of his name, he resigns himself to his destiny, and 

sufi^ers not a tear to flow." These liver pies come over to 

England chiefly in terrines, and they keep longer in this 

way ; but they are nicest of all in a p&t^ — coming over 

fresh in October and November. They also come in 

tins —that is, the livers alone, without the accompanying 

forcemeat — to be used in croquettes, kromeskis, and various 

relishes. But, on the whole, this is a waste. The goose 

liver is too good to be chopped up and thrown away upon 

other foods ; also it loses something when eaten hot. It is 

always best cold. If it is desired for an entremet, cut it 

into pieces and imbed them in the amber of aspic jelly. 

Duck Liver. — The liver of the Toulouse duck is prepared 
in the same way, and is by most good judges preferred 
even to that of the Strasbourg goose. 

Foiol Liver. — There is a little dish which one never sees in 
Paris at a first-class restaurant ; but it is a great favourite 
at the second-class ones with sanded floors in bye-streets. 
Impale the livers on a skewer or larkspit, putting a small 
piece of bacon between each, and toast them before the fire. 
Calf 8 Liver. — This is the dish which the Lord ChanceUor 
Eldon was so fond of, and which, when he dined with 
George the Fourth, was always prepared for him. Cut 



278 Liqueur 

slioes of liver and thin rashers of streaky bacon. Fry the 
bacon first and drain it. Then flour the slices of liver, fry 
them in the fat of the bacon till well browned, and dish 
them in alternate order with the rashers of bacon. Pour 
over them a sauce made by adding some good meat gravy, 
with a dredging of flour, salt, and pepper, to the fat in the 
frying-pan. Some people like a little acid in the sauce ; 
and to suit their taste sliced gherkins or pickled walnuts 
may be added to it. 

Liqueur. — There is an idle question as to whether 
brandy is a liqueur or not. Is rum ? is gin? is whisky? 
We can make arbitrary distinctions whenever we like ; but 
it seems absurd to say that there shall be no liqueur which 
is not sweetened. There is not much sweetness in whisky, 
but the French long ago took nsquebagh and raised it to 
the rank of a liqueur with the wonderful name of Scubac. 

The oldest of the very sweet liqueurs is undoubtedly 
acqua d'oro ; but long before it was produced by the 
Italians and brought into France by Catherine de Medici, 
the aqua vitae was in use. There is an old receipt of 500 
years ago — that is, of the time of Chaucer — in which direc- 
tions are given to prepare a fowl, to serve it in syrup, and 
then, as we now do plum-pudding at Christmas, to pour 
aqua vitse over it and set fire to it. In the face of such 
facts it is singular to find Frenchmen repeating one aft^r 
another that liqueurs were first invented by Frenchmen 
to comfort the old age of the Grand Monarch. Long 
before Louis XIV. was born. Sully in 1604 complained 
that the luxuries on which the French wasted most money 
were festivities and liqueurs. There were two liqueurs at 
that time in the greatest favour — Populo and Rossolis, the 
former made of musk, amber, anise and cinnamon ; the 
latter of sundew, angelica, coriander, fennel, anise and 
lemon; and both, needless to say, warmed with alcohol and 
mellowed with syrup. The Great King was particularly 



Lobster 2*9 

fond of the Bossolis, and one of the makers gave it his 
name, whence arose the myth. Lorraine was then famous 
for its liqueurs, and is said to be the native place of Parfait 
Amour. This is more than doubtful. The Parfait Amour 
of Lorraine was in great request, but there is reason to 
think that it was originally Italian. 

The religious orders were great distillers^ and it is 
curious to see how they patronise, bless and manufacture 
liqueurs. It began in the mediaeval search for the quint- 
essence and the elixir of life ; it has ended by the monks 
of La Grande Chartreuse insisting on a monopoly of their 
tipple and fighting for their trademark in the courts of 
law. There are only two liqueurs, however, in the present 
day which are the genuine manufacture of holy friars, — 
namely Chartreuse, produced by the Carthusians of the 
great monastery near Grenoble, and Trappistine, distilled 
by the good fathers of the Grace of God in the Doubs. 
There is another liqueur, Benedictine, which is said to come 
from the Abbey of Fecamp, and which is consecrated with 
the letters A. M. D. G. (Ad majorem Dei gloriam). It 
really comes from Fdcamp, and from the Abbey ; but the 
Abbey has now no more to do with monks than Woburn 
Abbey. It is the private factory of a layman who chooses 
to make use of the religious name. 

Putting the purer spirits out of account, the best known 
liqueurs in the present day are Chartreuse, Cura^oa, 
Maraschino, Kirschenwasser, Acquad'Oro, Parfait Amour, 
Noyau, Absinthe, Vermouth, Kiimmel. 

Lobster. — Government commissioners report that lob- 
sters are getting fewer and smaller every year, and we all 
know that they are getting dearer. The chief reason of 
this is our own folly — ^a stupid admiration of coral. The 
coral and spawn of the lobster, though nothing to taste, is 
most excellent in colour, and for the sake of it millions 
upon millions of eggs are annually destroyed. And yet a 



28o Lobster 

-* 

colonr quite as good may be obtained by pounding the 
shell in a mortar, mixing it with butter, cooking it in 
the bain-marie for an hour, and then passing it through 
a tammy; or if this red be not bright enough, it can 
easily be made perfect with cochineal. 

Lobster Butter is roughly described in the last sentence. 
Add here that the coral and spawn are commonly used 
either with or without the pounded shell. If the fonner 
alone are used, pound them well, mix them with twice their 
weight of butter, season them with salt and pepper, and 
pass them through a silk sieve — ^but do not in any way 
cook them. If the lobster shells are used, take equal 
weights of shell and butter, pound them together, and 
cook them for an hour ; but mark that for the sake of 
the colour the cooking is to be done in the bain-marie — 
that is, at a temperature much below the boiling point of 
water. When the butter thus coloured has been properly 
cooled in water, seasoned with cayenne pepper and salt, 
and passed through silk, it may be mixed with an equal 
quantity of fresh butter. The reason of dividing the butter 
into two quantities in this way is that the process of 
cooking destroys the natural flavour of the fresh butter. 
Therefore only half is used to cook the lobster shells, and 
the other half is added uncooked when the first half is got 
clear of shell. 

Lobster Sauce, — Split a lobster, and use the coral, th© 
spawn, the shell, and the pith of the body to make lobster 
butter as above described. Then make English sauce —but 
only Act First (that is, the vehicle); and into this vehicle, 
quite hot, put the tail and the claws, cut into small die«. 
For the Second Act, the completion of the sauce, add the 
lobster butter, and finish with a squeeze of lemon. Most 
English receipts put in a word for a little essence of 
anchovies. Let the anchovies be kept in their own place, 
and not suffered to interfere with the delicate flavour of the 
lobster. 



Lope de Vega 28 r 



Lobster Salad and Mayonnaise of Lobster. — A cx)okery 
book without a paragraph on the lobster salad would be 
considered sadly wanting. But this is sheer stupidity. A 
lobster salad is nothing but the pickings of a lobster sur- 
rounded with a salad. A Mayonnaise of lobster is precisely 
the same thing with a Mayonnaise sauce instead of the 
ordinary cruet, sauce used in mixing the salad. If there is 
anything more to be said, it has only to do with the orna- 
mental arrangement of the dish — which, as so much de- 
pends on the juxtaposition of colour, it is impossible to 
teach in a book. 

Lope de Vega. — To the philosophical chemist this is 
one of the most interesting personages in the whole range 
of history. He was a poet ; he was a dramatic poet ; he 
was the most prolific dramatic poet on record. He 
required for the composition of his dramas a diet of bacon. 

Toda es coaa yU 

'A donde falta un pemil. 

This is a fact most important to the dramatists of England 
— let them feed on bacon. It is all the more important 
when we remember that Fuseli prepared himself for his 
great pictures with underdone pork-chops, and that Thurtell 
committed one of the most celebrated murders of modem 
times after supping on the same dainty. In all three. 
Lope de Vega, Fuseli, and Thurtell, we detect the domina- 
tion of melodrama. 

It is a pity that we have few such facts to put together. 
We know that Dryden and Byron found Epsom salts a 
wonderful help to their poetical invention ; and we know 
that Napoleon made his great campaigns on chicken and 
coffee, not unaccompanied with rum. Newton loved 
tobacco and a redstreak apple. What would we not give 
to know what were the aliments that nourished the brain 
of Plato and directed the pen of Shakespeare ? 

Was Lord Eldon a dramatic character? He was a very 



282 Love in Disguise 



slow but sure old judge, who started in life with a roman- 
tic marriage — running away with his bride. He was 
devoted to liver and bacon, and whenever he dined with 
George IV. the cook had orders to have always ready a 
dish of them. Here we find that whereas a diet of bacon 
made Lope de Vega a dramatist, the combination of bacon 
with liver fixed Lord Eldon ever more and more firmly on 
the woolsack. These little contrarieties have to be studied, 
and a vast field of science opens before us. 

Love in Disguise is a calfs heart stufied, then sur- 
rounded with forcemeat, next rolled in vermicelli, lastly 
deposited in a baking dish with a little butter, and sent to 
the oven. Serve it in the dish with its own gravy. 




lACARONI is in England a common name 
given to many preparations of Italian paste, 
as well as to that particular kind which 
Theodore Hook described as "tobacco-pipes 
made easy." We are not too well acquainted with the 
technical names for the ribbons, lozenges, ruffles, straws 
and strings into which this pleasant paste is formed, and 
for all the nice varieties of Genoese and Neapolitan manu- 
facture. Even vermicelli would be classed in an English 
kitchen among the macaronis — which is the oldest known 
name for the species. In Chaucer's time the English 
name was macrow, and it was applied especially to little 
balls or puddings of paste. 

Macaroni is a form of wheat-flour — a bread, in fact — 
so palatable, so cheap, and so easily managed in cookery, 
that it is a wonder to see it so little used in this country. 
Macaroni and cheese is the most digestible form in which 
bread and cheese can be presented — the only form in which 
many weak vessels can tolerate it. 



Macaroni 283 



Macaroni a Vltalienne. — Pat some macaroni into eight 
times its weight of boiling water. A pound and a pint 
being equivalent quantities, there should be four pints of 
boiling water for half a pound of the paste. Let it simmer 
with a little pepper and salt for twenty minutes — more or 
less, according to the quality of the macaroni, particularly 
its freshness. Test a piece between the fingers to know 
when it is done enough. Then drain it from the water in 
a colander, and put it back in the stewpan with as much 
broth or gravy as it can absorb in a further simmering of 
a minute or two. Half a pound of macaroni will take 
about half a pint of broth or gravy. Some cooks omit 
this process altogether, and in England it is common to 
use milk instead of broth ; but our business at present is 
with the Italian fashion — Macaroni k Tltalienne. In the 
meantime have ready (for half a pound of macaroni) four 
or five ounces of grated cheese, half Parmesan, half 
Gruyere, and an ounce of butter. Shake half the cheese 
into the macaroni, and toss it well ; then mix in the ounce 
of butter ; finally shake in the remainder of the cheese, 
and when all is well mixed by tossing, and it begins to get 
stringy, serve it. Some people Uke the cook to be liberal 
with the pepper-pot in this dish. 

Macaroni a la Milanaise is the same as the foregoing, 
with tomato sauce sprinkled over it in the dish ; but gene- 
rally in this case there is some addition of meat — say a 
cutlet — served over the macaroni. 

Macaroni au gratin is still prepared in the same way. It 
is then heaped up on a dish which will stand the fire. It is 
sprinkled with grated cheese and with fine bread-raspings ; 
it is bedewed with melted butter; it is put into the oven till 
it becomes of a golden hue ; and if the oven is not hot 
enough, it may be finished with the salamander. 

Macaroni Pvdding, — Simmer macaroni in boiling water 



2 84 Mace 

for fifteen minutes, strain away the water, add some new 
milk to it, and let it cool. When cold, mix into it three 
or four beaten yolks of eggs ; sweeten it with sugar, and 
season it with nutmeg, cinnamon, and a glass of noyau. 
Put it into a pudding-dish with a layer of orange marma- 
lade or apricot jam in the centre, and bake it. 

Macaroni Soi^p. — Some macaroni added to a clear broth 
or consomm^. When any of the Italian pastes are used in 
this way, they should be boiled first for five minutes in 
water, otherwise they may dim the clearness of the broth. 
Talleyrand laid down the law that with all the soups in 
which macaroni, vermicelli, and other Italian pastes are 
used, grated Parmesan should be served apart, and a glass 
of Madeira afterwards. 

Mace is but the outer shell of the nutmeg, and resembles 
it in flavour. The nutmeg has been laughed out of cookery^ 
and is chiefly now represented in the aromas of the kitchen 
by its husk — the mace. 

Macedon, or in French Mac^doine, is a name which is 
supposed to have been used in the first instance to signify 
a medley of vegetables, but which has so pleased the 
French ear that it has been applied to almost any kind 
of medley. It would not be classical, but it would be 
unimpeachable, to translate The Princess : a Medley, into 
La Princesse : une Mac4doine> The French are at a loss 
to account for this locution, which they have themselves 
invented, and can only suggest, one after another, that it 
must have had its rise in the fact that the Macedonian 
Empire was a medley of many strange nations and races, 
and that its name therefore was appropriate in the first 
instance to a mixture of vegetables, and afterw*ards to any 
mixture remarkable for its variety. The explanation is 
characteristic of our friends across the water, and is even 
worthy of Manage. 



Macedon 285 



Under the name of Alexander it has been already ex- 
plained that in France, in the middle of the seventeenth 
century, a Macedon was the parsley of Macedon, which 
in England was known as the Alexander. At the same 
time tiiis plant was being fast displaced by the celery, 
which the Italians brought to perfection ; so that early in 
the last century it was of little or no account, and the 
name of Macedon became disengaged. It was given to 
a medley of vegetables, not because they were a medley, 
but because they were, so to speak, fricasseed — that is, 
cut to pieces and served with a white fricassee sauce. What 
is the connection f Alexander the Great was supposed to 
have brought haricots from India, and was said to have 
liked them fricassied — at least, that is the expressive word 
used by the Marquis de Cussy (^UArt Culinaire, chap, viii.), 
who has preserved the tradition, though without being very 
sure of bis classical authorities. Add to the haricots a 
variety of other vegetables ; fricassee all together in the 
fashion approved by the great Alexander — and what could 
be more natural than to name the dish either Legumes a 
TAlexandre, or Legumes k la Mac^oine ? In point of 
fact, the Macedon, as at first created, was just such a dish ; 
and it still survives as the standard form of the Macedon. 
In course of time, it was forgotten that the name of 
Macedon was given to the vegetables on account of the 
(supposed) Macedonian method of serving them, and 
popular imagination fixed upon variety as the most notable 
mark of the dish. The name of Macedon came thus to be 
transferred from the mode of cooking the vegetables to 
their great variety ; afterwards it was applied to a variety 
of fruits, and now it is used as a playful synonym for 
m^ange. 

Macedon of Vegetables. — This is the Alexandrian or 
Macedonian fricassee as imagined by the French cooks, 
and transferred from the haricots, which the great 
commander loved, to a medley of vegetables. Choose 



286 Mackerel 



the most delicate vegetables — ^haricot pods, haricot beans, 
peas^ asparagus^ carrots and turnips. Shape the carrots 
and turnips into peas and dice ; cut the haricot pods into 
little lozenges ; take the asparagus points. Whatever the 
vegetables chosen, boil them separately in salt and abun- 
dance of water. Then drain them well and put them to- 
gether in a stewpan to stir on the fire (but not so as to 
mash them), with a good piece of butter, a slight dredging 
of flour, some powdered sugar, salt, and a spoonful or two 
of broth. After a few minutes' simmermg in this way, 
finish them either with some spoonfuls of Bechamel, or 
with a leason of yolks and cream. 

Salad of Macedon, — Choose, cut, boil and drain the 
vegetables as before. Serve them either in one heap^ 
indiscriminately mixed together, or arrange them orna- 
mentally in separate heaps. Cruet sauce. 

Macedon of Fruits. — ^A variety of iruits embedded in a 
mould of jelly. 

Mackerel. — A great authority, Grimod de la Reyniere, 
says: "The mackerel has this in common with good 
women — he is loved by all the world. He is welcomed by 
rich and poor with the same eagerness. He is most com- 
monly eaten k la maitre d'hdtel. But he may be prepared 
in a hundred ways ; and he is as exquisite plain as in the 
most elaborate dressing" (au maigre comme au gras). 
This is immense praise, and is a complete justification of 
the common English method of serving him — plain boiled, 
with fennel or with gooseberry sauce. Nevertheless I give 
my vote to those who assert that there is but one perfect 
way of cooking a mackerel — to split him by the back, 
broil him, and serve him with maitre d'hotel butter. Still 
better, take his fillets and serve them in the same way. 

The name of mackerel is supposed to be a corruption of 
nacarel, a possible diminutive of nacre — from the blue and 



Madeira 287 



mother-o^-pearl tint of the skin. In one of the dialects 
of the south of France he is called peis d'Avril, the April 
fish — or as we should say, an April fool^ both because he is 
a fool coming easily to the net, and because he first comes 
in April. He is not only quickly caught, but he spoils so 
quickly that the law accords him a peculiar privilege : 
he is the only fish that may be hawked about the streets 
on a Sunday. For the same reason he is the only fish 
besides the salmon that is much soused or marinaded in 
this country. 

The mackerel which comes to our shores is a great 
puzzle to the philosophers. He has no air-bladder, yet he 
is as buoyant and lively as fish can be. What then is the 
use of an air-bladder? 

Madeira. — If one thiu£^ could more decided! v than 
another prove the low estate to which cookery has de- 
scended in Paris, and expose the hoUowness of the grand 
receipts which still figure in the cookery books, it is 
Madeira. There is scarcely any wine of great repute 
which it is so difficult to procure genuine, and when 
genuine it commands an exorbitant price. Yet from 
morning to night, and from year's end to year's end, in 
every restaurant in Paris, down to the meanest cabaret, 
the assembled world is invited to eat beefsteaks cooked in 
Madeira. In all the world there is not Madeira enough 
for a week's consumption of the filet an Mad^re in Paris. 
Besides which, the Parisian shopman has a wonderful 
fancy for imbibing Madeira by way of fillip. He goes into 
any caf(£ or cabaret and asks for a Mad^re. It is poured 
out for him — a glass at three or four sous — and he is happy 
with the pernicious stuff that bears the fine name. 80 in 
the cookery books the great chefs, with an astonishing air 
of grandeur, direct that a bottle of Madeira must go into 
this sauce and half a bottle into that. Where are these 
bottles and half-bottles of Madeira to be found ? It is a 



288 Maids of Honour 

vice of the French system — this grand style. There is a 
receipt for marking Spanish sauce which sets out in the 
most noble of strains : '^ Take twelve ducks, a ham, two 
bottles of good old Madeira, and six pounds of fine truffles." 
Old Madeira too! Even if the old Madeira, worth a 
guitiea a bottle, were forthcoming, it would be spoilt in 
such a decoction, without doing it more good than the 
same quantity of Marsala worth twenty-one pence a bottle. 
Would it not be better at once to come down to common 
sense, and to pour out frankly the humble Marsala, which 
is quite good enough for cooking purposes, and is certainly 
better than any Madeiitt that finds its way into the kitchen ? 
Take this for a verity — that if any one who knows Madeira 
can lay his hand upon a bottle of it, he will drink it, and 
he will not leave a drop for the stewpan. 

Maids of Honour. — It surely redeems the act of eating 
from its grossness that imagination can so work upon us as 
to transform a simple cheesecake into a maid of honour. 
At Richmond we are permitted to touch with our lips a 
countless number of these maids — ^light and airy as the 
'*airy, fairy Lilian." What more can the finest poetry 
achieve in quickening the things of earth into tokens and 
foretastes of heaven, with glimpses of higher life and ethereal 
worlds ? See Dariole. 

Maintknon. — ^The widow Scarron, afterwards Madame 
de Maintenon, was married to Louis XIV. in his old age, 
nursed him well, made him say his prayers, and fed him 
with mutton cutlets carefully deprived of fat, for his poor 
worn stomach. The old king was in a deplorable condi- 
tion : he had lost his teeth ; caries of the jawbone set in ; 
and the liquid which he tried to swallow came out at his 
nose. In his younger days he had been tremendous with 
his knife and fork. The Duchess of Orleans tells us in her 
memoirs that she often saw him eat four platefuls of soup, 
a whole pheasant, a partridge, a plate of salad, mutton 



Maitre d' Hotel 289 

hashed with garlic, two considerable slices of ham, a dish 
of pastry, and afterwards fruit and sweetmeats. The 
Duchess, by the way, thought herself a very delicate 
feeder; and it may help to show what pigmies we are 
nowadays in the way of eating, if we recall what she says 
of her own diet : '^ I seldom breakfast, and then only on 
bread-and-butter. I take neither chocolate, nor coffee, nor 
tea, being unable to endure these foreign drugs. I am 
German in all my habits. I eat no soup but such as I 
can take with milk, wine, or beer. I cannot bear broth — 
it makes me sick, and gives me the colic. When I take 
broth alone I vomit even to blood, and nothing can restore 
the tone of my stomach but ham and sausages/' It is not 
at all snrprisiDg that princes and princesses who fed after 
this fashion ruined their digestion, and that Madame de 
Maintenon had to keep a sharp eye on the mutton cutlets 
destined for the interior of her royal spouse — the Grand 
Monarch. The cutlets of the Marquise were done up in 
curl-papers ; and it is to be hoped that the old king liked 
them better for their nocturnal attire, and the thoughts 
they might call up in vision of the lady — the last of his 
loves — in her nightcap. 

CutleU h la Maintenon, — The curl-papers of Madame de 
Maintenon having been found inconvenient for a broil, and 
not less so the pig's caul which has been sometimes substi- 
tuted for them, Gouff^ has suggested the following more 
simple way of preparing these cutlets : — Take a neck of 
mutton and cut it into cutlets, leaving two bones to each 
cutlet Remove one of them, and flatten and trim the 
cutlets. Split them in two with a knife, without separating 
them at the bone. Spread some reduced Duxelles sauce 
inside. Refold the cutlets, and broil them for four minutes 
on each side. Put a layer of Duxelles on a dish ; lay the 
cutlets on it ; pour over them some Duxelles sauce ; put 
the dish in a hot oven for four minutes, and then serve. 

MaItre d'Hotkl — the House Steward — ought to com- 

19 



290 Maraschino 



mand the best that is in the house ; and it shows his under- 
standing of good cookery that he chooses for himself the 
most simple of sauces. 

Maitre dCHdtel Butter. — Enead cold fresh butter on a 
plate with chopped parsley, pepper, salt, and lemon-juioe. 
The parsley should be first washed and scalded. A pat of 
this butter is served either upon or under broiled meat or 
fish, and melts on the dish. When a dish is said to be k la 
Maitre d'Hotel, it is almost always served with this butter, 
and rarely with what is called 

Maitre dCHdtel Sauce, which is but English butter sauce 
with parsley (scalded and chopped) added to it. 

Mallard. — See Wild Duck. 

Maraschino. — A bitter-sweet liqueur made at Zara from 

the kernel of the Marasca cherry or gean of Dalmatia. 

The word implies bitterness; but the liqueur is made so 

sweet that women take to it as flies to honey and as moths 

to candles. It is a curious fact in natural history that the 

fair sex prefer a sweet liqueur to the finest wine ; and they 

have such a tendency to Maraschino, that Mr. Hayward 

has proposed that whereas the toast most honoured among 

men is Wine and Women, they should adopt as their 

own return toast — Men and Maraschino. The French 

have produced several variations of the true Maraschino of 

Zara, and notably one which they call Marasquin de p^ches. 

The true Maraschino of Zara is made with but a small 

quantitv of peach kernels. It is made from a small black 

gean, which is fermented first with honey, then with the 

leaves and kernels of the fruit, and is at last distilled and 

sweetened with sugar. 

Marinade is a brine, souse or pickle, used sometimes to 
prepare fish, flesh or fowl for the fire ; sometimes to pre- 
serve them after they have left it. A marinade is either 
cooked or raw \ but it is not usual for the books to give 



Matelote 291 



any accoant of the raw ones. The two following, which 
are very simple^ may be mentioned because they are of 
frequent use in Horlys — that is, fillets of chicken, sole, or 
game, which are dipped in batter and fried after enduring 
two hours of the pickle. 

Ra\JD Marinade. — No. 1. A branch of parsley and half 
an onion, chopped and mixed with pepper and salt into the 
juice of a lemon. No. 2. A faggot of sweet-herbs and an 
onion chopped and mixed with pepper and salt into oil and 
vinegar. 

Cooked Marinade. — A faggot of sweet-herbs, an onion, a 
shalot, a clove of garlic, a carrot, and four ounces of bacon, 
chopped together first, then fried with an ounce of butter, 
then salted and peppered, and boiled for a minute or two 
in a pint of liquid, half water, half vinegar. 

Makmalade is a word which we have come to use verv 
much as the French say Rosbif de mouton and Rosbif 
d'agneau. It means a confection of quince — from iho 
Portuguese marmolo, a quince. But we say apple mar- 
malade and orange marmalade. 

Matelote is a stew of fresh-water fish. Take different 
kinds— carp, eel, pike, tench, perch, — and cut them up ; but 
it must be remembered that some of these fish, as the eel 
and the pike, may require some previous cooking to put 
them on the same level with the others. Put the pieces 
into a stewpan with two sliced onions, a faggot of swent- 
herbs, two cloves of garlic crushed, two cloves, pepper and 
salt. Moisten all so as to be well covered with a liquor 
composed of red wine two-thirds and broth one-third. 
Cook it on a brisk fire for twenty minutes ; then pass 
the liquor through a tammy and keep the fish hoi 
in the pan. In the meantime the Relish or Ragout of tho 
fish will have been got ready as follows. Put half a pound 
of butter into a saucepan, and toss in it till they take a fine 



2g2 Matelote 



colour two dozen small onions ; take oat the onions, and 
put in their place two good spoonfuls of flour, which is to 
be worked into a roux. Add to this the strained liquor of 
the fish, the little onions, and a like quantity of mushrooms. 
Let the cooking go on till onions and mushrooms are suffi- 
ciently done ; and then reduce the sauce on a quick fire 
and remove the grease from it. Lastly, make a pyramid 
of the fish upon a dish, pour the sauce over it, and garnish 
it with crayfish and fried crusts of bread. The sauce thus 
prepared, with the garnish of onions, mushrooms, crayfish 
and crusts, is known as the Matelote Relish or Bagout 

While Matelote. — This is commonly called in France the 
Matelote Vierge ; and it must not be mistaken for the 
Normandy Matelote, which is also white. It is most fre- 
quently used for eel, but it is good also for other fish. Cut 
the eel into lengths of two or three inches, and set them to 
boil for four or five minutes in salt and water, together 
with two tablespoonfuls of vinegar. This preliminary step, 
though necessary for eel, is not so for other fish. Melt in a 
saucepan a piece of butter with a spoonful of flour ; dilute 
it with half white wine (French) and half broth, and add 
to it pepper, salt, and a faggot of sweet-herbs. Place the 
fish in it with a number of small onions and mushrooms, 
and let it cook for twenty or twenty-five minutes. When 
cooked, remove the fish, onions, mushrooms and faggot, 
thicken the sauce with yolk of egg, finish it with lemon- 
juice, and strain it over the fish, which will also be 
garnished with the onions and mushrooms and with fried 
crusts of bread. In effect this sauce is but a variety of the 
white-wine sauce prescribed hereafter for sole. 

Normandy Matelote, — This is the grand white Matelote 
— a magnificent dish, but unhappily only possible during 
the months when oysters and mussels are in season. It is 
excellent for a brill or a chicken turbot ; but it was first 
of all invented for the benefit of a large solo; and the 



Mayonnaise 293 



original receipt for it will be fonnd under the title of Sole 
bk la Normande. 

Mayonnaise is nothing else than the ordinary French 
salad mixture of oil, vinegar, pepper and salt, with the 
. addition of raw yolks of eggs ; but its excellence depends 
on the mode of working it up, which is very elaborate. 
If properly handled, a raw yolk will incorporate into a 
thick cream no less than a quart of oil. To make a good 
Mayonnaise it is enough that two raw yolks should incor- 
porate in this way a tumblerful of olive oil and a small 
wineglassful of tarragon vinegar or of lemon-juice. The 
result will be that those who object to oil will, if it be 
good, forget that it is there, and those who object to raw 
eggs will detect no trace of their rawness. The yolks, 
white pepper and salt are . first worked smooth with a 
wooden spoon in a bowl ; a few drops of oil and a few of 
vinegar are added, and the spoon goes to work again ; 
again a few drops, and the spoon is plied with great 
patience ; and so on till the mixture thickens and the 
whole of the oil and vinegar is absorbed. It is a long, 
tedious process of stirring, although as it goes on the oil 
may be added in larger and larger quantities. If great 
care is not taken the mixture will decompose in the very 
act of working it smooth ; sometimes in the heat of 
summer it is necessary to manipulate it, holding the bowl 
on ice. This is the sauce in its simplicity, and so made it 
ought to be perfect. 

Green Mayonnaise. — For ordinary purposes a simple 
receipt will sufiice — namely,' this : Add to the Mayonnaise 
after it is finished a quantity of chopped ravigote. But 
a more perfect receipt is as follows : — 

Take a good faggot of ravigote, and blanch it for five or 
six minutes in boilincf water and salt. Then take it out to 
get cold, and wipe it dry. Pound it in a mortar with a 
spoonful of Mayonnaise, and pass it through a tammy • 



2 94 TAe Lady Mayonnaiu 



Mix tfaid with the Majoimai^ already prepared, and if the 
erjloar is too pale, add a Uttle spinach-greea. 

ifaycmnaise of Jtlhj. — There are no eggs in this, but 
aifpic or savoury jelly instead. Melt half a tumblerfbl of 
jf'lly, and when it is cold bnt not yet firm, add to it a 
winegiashful of oUve oil, a tablespoonfnl of tarragon 
vinegar, some salt and white pepper. Place the bowl if 
jiossible upon ice or very cold water, and whip it with a 
wire whisk till the sauce thickens and whitens. A little 
lemon-juice added will improve its whiteness. For many 
jicople this is enough ; but those who rejoice in oil will 
go on adding it in the full proportion required for the 
Mayonnaise made with eggs. Those also who like the 
ravigote will add it as in the Green ]^Iayonnaise. The 
sauce is smoothest when it is not made until the last 
moment. It has a great advantage over the Mayonnaise 
made with eggs — that it can be made very quickly in any 
quantity, and that it does not decompose if care is taken 
to keep it cold. There are some also who consider this 
Mayonnaise more delicate in taste than that made with 

eggs. 

These three receipts for Mayonnaise, a fourth receipt for 
Remoulade, which is made with hard-boiled yolks, and a 
fifth for Tartar sauce, which is the bedevilment of either 
Mayonnaise or Hemoulade, are all that it is necessary to 
know for practical purposes. But there is much more to 
))e said as to the history of the Mayonnaise, and I proceed 
to show that La Mayonnaise was a lady. 

The Lady Mayonnaise. — We need lay no stress on the 
fact to begin with that the word Mayonnaise is more often 
used as a noun than as an adjective. Rightly or wrongly, 
it is used sometimes as an adjective; for we say Sauce 
Mayonnaise just as people sometimes also say Sauce 
Bechamel. Kightly or wrongly, too, the word is still more 
often used as a substantive, as when we say a Mayonnaise ; 



The Lady Mayonnaise 295 

and there is no other name of a sauce so frequently thus 
used save those which, like Bechamel, are substantives 
confessed. This, however, is so deceptive that at starting 
we must not rely upon it. Many a time it happens that 
an adjective is for shortness turned into a substantive. 
But if it can be proved independently that the word is a 
noun, the name for a lady, and not an adjective, then here 
we have an important corroborative fact to return to: that 
whereas most other French sauces have names indicated 
by adjectives — Sauce Italienne, Espagnole — this one has 
a name which is much more often used as a substantive. 

The name is a great puzzle to the French themselves. 
Why Mayonnaise? What can be the meaning of it? 
The last syllable (nearly always in French representing 
the Latin termination -ensis) would seem to imply that it 
is an adjective of place — as Fran^ais or Fran^aise, from 
France, Marseillais or Marseillaise, from Marseilles. But 
there is no such place as Mayonne, and there lies the 
difficulty. In the beginning of the century Grimod de la 
Beyniere suggested that there was some corruption in the 
word, and that it ought to be Bayonnaise, afler the town 
of Bayonne on the Spanish frontier. His suggestion was 
deemed so important that the sauce is so named in a 
number of approved dictionaries, and there are purists to 
this day who always mention it as Bayonnaise. Grimod, 
however, also pointed out another solution. The word 
might be Mahonnaise, in honour of Marshal Richelieu's 
achievement in capturing the great stronghold of Mahon 
in the island of Minorca. It was in attempting to relieve 
this fort, it may be remembered, that the English Admiral 
Byng made the failure for which he was shot — " pour en- 
courager les autres," as Voltaire says in Candide. But on 
the whole it was considered that this explanation was not 
so good as the other ; and for the moment it was discarded. 
Then came CarSme — a great cook, but not much of a 
linguist, and a very conceited man, with an egotistical, 



296 The Lady Mayonnaise 

arrogant style. He was very angry with Grimod for 
daring to say that the language of the kitchen is not 
remarkable for its purity. It is in the great kitchens, he 
said, — '^ c'est \k que les puristes resident : '' a very startling 
statement to those who are aware that no sets of terms in 
either the French or the English language are so corrupt 
and obscure as those connected with food. 

Be that as it may, Car^me declared loudly that with 
regard to this particular word it was the men of letters 
squabbling over the comparative merits of Mayonnaise, 
Bayonnaise, and Mahonnaise, who were corrupt and igno- 
rant ; that the cooks knew better — ^they were the true 
guides to pronunciation — and with them the genuine word 
was Magnonnaise. He maintained tht^t any one could 
see at a glance that the name was intended to suggest 
the difficult process of manipulating the sauce. It came 
from the verb manier^ and referred to the continual manie" 
merit which is needed to produce it. CarSme was not 
always of this opinion, for he has in one curious passage^ 
in which he enumerates the list of dishes named after 
French localities, mentioned Magnonnaise among them, as 
if this sauce too were taken from the name of a place. 
There is no such place as Magnon, however^ and no one 
with the instincts of a philologer could derive Magnonnaise 
from the verb manier — which, to say no more, does not 
account for the introduction of the n at the commencement 
of the third syllable. The grammarians could only deride 
CarSme's attempt at etymology, and they dismissed his 
theory on the spot as not worthy of notice. 

These are discussions which belong to the first quarter 
of the century ; and now that we have come to the last 
quarter it will be asked — What are the final opinions of 
French philologers, after fifty years of research which have 
thrown a flood of light on the sources of the French 
language? The leading dictionaries of the present day 
have no dear opinion to express upon the subject ; they 



The Lady Mayonnaise 2gj 

resort to conjecture ; and their conjecture is that the ex- 
planation which was least regarded in the beginning of 
the century may after all be right — Mahonnaise, in honour 
of the siege of Mahon. Littr^ and others give this now as 
the probable but not certain origin of the word. -There is 
a great diflBculty, however, in the way of accepting it — a 
difficulty which the lexicographers would have seen clearly 
if they had not thought it beneath them to pay much 
attention to the very curious literature of the French 
kitchen. The capture of Mahon was effected in 1726, and 
there is no other known instance at that period, or for 
long after it, of a dish or dainty being named after a 
victory. Dishes were named after the places where they 
were invented, the races who partook of them, or the great 
nobles who patronised them. It was not till the battle of 
Marengo — seventy-four years after the fall of Mahon — 
that the field of a great victory gave its name by a mere 
accident to a dish : the chicken k la Marengo. To guess, 
therefore, that Mahonnaise^ comes from the siege of Mahon 
is to antedate enormously a modern phantasy ; and further- 
more to assume an exceptional phraseology, when the 
analogy of k la Marengo would lead one to expect k la 
Mahon as the name for a sauce which does not properly 
belong to Mahon and has only an honorary connection 
with it. 

What then is the true word — Mayonnaise, Bayonnaise, 
Magnonnaise, or Mahonnaise ? I am about to maintain 
that the last of these spellings, now adopted by the chief 
authorities, is the most correct— that is, nearest to the 
original ; but to suggest a different explanation for it. 
The fact is that though CarSme made a great mistake in 
working out his explanation, he is entitled to more atten- 
tion than he has received in his statement as to the 
tradition of the kitchen. He does not say absolutely, but 
he leaves it to be understood, that in his culinary circle the 
name of the sauce was everywhere supposed to bear special 



298 The Lady Mayonnaise 

reference to the mode of its manipulation. That is an 
important fact, and it gives a clue to the mystery if we 
follow it up. Car^me, we have seen, fixes upon the verb 
maimr not only as indicating the meaning of the word, 
but also as indicating its root. This is clearly wrong. 
But may there not be some other word ? 

In the old Proven<jal tongue, the dead language of 
the Troubadours, which contains the earliest literature of 
Modem Europe, which seemed at one time as if it would 
be the dominant speech of France, and which though 
finally displaced by the dialect of the North, by French, 
the language of the Trouveres, yet contributed to it very 
many words and forms of words, many that we know, but 
not a few doubtless that we never suspect, — ^in this ancient 
tongue, which spread over Southern France and gave its 
name to Languedoc, there *was a verb one of the forms 
of which was malionner, and one of the meanings of which 
was to fatigue. The verb was spelt in many and extremely 
diverse ways — not only mahonner and majhonner^ but 
mecliaigner, mehagner, maganhar^ me/ienier, and others ; 
it had also many and extremely diverse meanings, — ^to 
strike, to kill, to wound, to mutilate, to box, to maltreat, 
as well as to worry and fatigue. If the reader is inclined 
to allow that the verb mahxmner^ still more majhonner from 
its spelling, has a fiur surface claim to be deemed the 
original of Mahonnaise and Mayonnaise — he may still kick 
at its meaning and ask how are we to get a salad mixture 
out of a verb meaning to fatigue ? The process is very 
simple. One of the most common French phrases for 
mixing a salad is to &tigue it ; and this phrase is so odd 
that in connection with it a tradition has always been 
preserved, and is known to most persons of any information, 
that it is of Provencal origin. The verb mahonner^ as 
applied to the mixing of a salad, conveyed an image of 
that exaggerated and picturesque kind which we associate 
with slang or cant. I do not mean anything coarse or 



The Lady Mayonnaise 299 

vulgar — in this case quite the contrary ; I mean only 
words which are liiled out of their natural sense into a 
special, figurative and technical meaning, and which have 
a peculiar currency on the lips of the initiated. Springing 
up in the dialect of the South, it would always be strange 
and sometimes incomprehensible to those who spoke the 
dialect of the North. For them — for the French — ^it would 
be translated into faJtiguer^ and the two verbs mahmn&r 
and fatiguer would exist concurrently in French. The 
former at length dropped out of sight altogether, surviving 
only in the derivative Mahonnaise or Mayonnaise, with a 
vague tradition preserved in the kitchen down to the time 
of Careme that the name had reference to the manner of 
mixing or fatiguing the sauce. 

The explanation, however, is not yet complete ; there 
is a flaw in the evidence. How are we to accoimt for 
the final syUable of Mahonnaise, which usually belongs to 
adjectives connected with place ? and how are we to con- 
struct any likely adjective from the active verb Mahonner ? 
In this case we must be prepared to accept any word 
which could by licence be twisted into anything like 
Mahonnaise, for the Provencal spelling is so loose and 
takes so wide a range (as will have been seen above in 
the second syllable of Mahonner, mechaigner, mehagner, 
maganhar, mehenier), that even a distant resemblance 
might satisfy us. But from an active verb mahonner 
there is no such adjective possible. The nearest thing 
we can create is a participial adjective maJionnant or 
mahonnante, or such a word as mahxmnable ; and these 
are nothing like what we want. The fact is that the 
word Mahonnaise is not an adjective at all, but a feminine 
substantive, applied to women. According to the laws 
of modern French spelling, it ought to be Mahonneur for 
the masculine, and Mahonneuse for the feminine — one 
who fatigues. So we have danseuse from danser, char- 
meuse from charmer, and the old word gouvemeuse from 



300 The Lady Mayonnaise 

gouvemer. About the spelling we need not trouble be- 
cause of its extreme laxity ; the Mahonneuse of modem 
French spelling might very easily be Mahonnaise in the 
old corrupt and diversified Provencal pronunciation ; it 
wiU not confound any one who catches the analogy 
in Trouveur and Trouv^re. The real dilBSculiy is in the 
sense. Unable to make a likely adjective from the 
verb, we have made a feminine noun — and what have 
we gained? We have gained a noun which curiously 
and unexpectedly fits into what is more than a tradition 
like Cardme's tradition of the kitchen — it is a historical 
fact. We have gained a sudden and undesigned coinci- 
dence which is one of the tests of truth. In the olden 
time a salad was mixed by pretty women, and they did 
it with their hands. This was so well understood that 
down at least to the time of Bousseau (Littr^ gives a 
quotation from the Nouvelle H^oise, vi. 2), the phrase 
reUmmer la salade avee lea doigts was used to describe a 
woman as being still young and beautiful ^^Dans le 
sitele dernier," are Littr^'s own words — " les jeunes femmes 
retoumaient la salade avec les doigts : cette locution a 
disparu avec Tusage lui-mSme." And this is the meaning 
of the feminine noun. A feminine adjective, if such could 
be found, would present no diflSculties ; it would neces- 
sarily be Sauce Mahonnaise. But if a likely adjective 
from the verb mahonner is impossible, and we have only 
a noun to fall back upon, why not Mahonneur — a man who 
fatigues the salad ? It is Mahonneuse or Mahonnaise — a 
woman, because it was she in her youth and beauty who 
fatigued the sauce ; it was she who with her fingers 
fatigued the salad. 

If these considerations be well founded, the proper name 
for the sauce is not Sauce Mayonnaise, but Sauce k la 
Mayonnaise— or still more simply, La Mayonnaise. And 
we can now see why the word is more often used as a 
noun than as an adjectiva 



Meringues ^301 



Melon. — Try a slioe of melon as an adjunct to any fish 
eaten with a cruet sauce. 

Melted Butter is a correct name for that which has 
been described as the one English sauce ; but it is not 
distinctive enough, inasmuch as there are other melted 
butters. The French call it White Sauce, which again is 
correct but not distinctive. It is best to accept as a 
compliment the name which was meant as a reproach, and 
to call it the English Sauce. This name will also bring 
it more distinctly into juxtaposition with the other great 
sauce— Dutch Sauce — with which it runs a race. Turn 
therefore to English Sauce. 

Menu. — ^Why will Englishmen always describe the 
minute of a dinner as the menu? Why do they not 
speak of a receipt as a re^u ? Surely it is impossible to 
get a better word than the English minute or minutes. 

Meringues are made with a batter composed of white 
of egg and sugar, in the proportion of ten whites to a 
pound of sugar. Whip the whites into a firm froth, mix 
in the sugar, and then arrange spoonfuls of the batter in 
egg-shape upon sheets of paper. Next sprinkle some 
coarsely sifted sugar over them, leave tliem alone for a 
couple of minutes, and then shake off the loose sugar. 
Pla«e the sheets of paper on baking-boards, and put them 
into a slack oven till the meringues take a light-buff 
tinge. Take them out again, and with a dessert-spoon scoop 
out the insides, taking care not to alter the shape of the 
meringues. After this put them again into the oven to 
dry, but care must be taken not to deepen the colour. Fill 
the meringues with whipt cream or iced cream i join them 
together two-and-two, and pile them upon a napkin. 

It is apparently not known why they are called merin- 
gues. There are several curious explanations of the name, 



302 Meringues 

not one of which is satis&ctorv. I therefore Tentnre to 
make a conjecture. It wants but one little fact, which 
maj hereafter be found, to raise the conjectare into a 
demonstration. 

The chief point \o be observed is that a merinorne is 
white of egg worked into shape. It is therefore in the 
first instance io be presumed that the name means white 
of egg, or simply white. The fact which I have felled to 
find, and which if found would be decisive, is that meringue 
means white ; but there are other fects which distinctly 
point that way. First of all, look at some parallels in the 
English language. We have white, white of egs:, whiting 
the fish, and whiting the chalk. Now, in French the 
name for a whiting is merlan, in old French, merlenc and 
mellenc. In French, also, the name for a white clay is 
mame, formerly merle and marie. Is it not a fair infer- 
ence that, as in English whiting the fish and whiting 
the chalk are connected with the root white, so in French 
merlan the fish and mame the chalk are equally con- 
nected with a root meaning white, which would also yield 
meringue for the white of egg ? There is something to 
confirm this view in the Latin language. The French 
mame (in the old form and in the English language 
marie) comes from the Low Latin margila, a diminutive 
of marga. But it has already been shown in these pages 
(see Gallimawfrey) how easy it is in various languages to 
drop the initial m. The Mac of the Gael becomes the Ap 
of the Welsh. The mxmos of the Greeks becomes the wn?/* 
of the Latins. Seize this fact thoroughly, and it will be 
understood that the Low Latin margila is a doublet of the 
classical Latin argilla ; and we know that argUla must be 
traced back to argo8^ white. If, therefore, argilla had a 
dialectical variety — margila, it may reasonably be inferred 
that argos had also a dialectical variety — margos^ which 
would have the meaning of white, and contain the germ 
of meringue, as something white. There can be no more 



Milk 303 

difficulty in tracing meringue back to margo?, a supposed 
form of argos, than in tracing marne back to margila. 

Mignonette Pepper. — White pepper whole, not ground. 

Milk. — The greatest discovery in the way of food which 
has been made in this century is the half-discovery which 
has been made about milk. When the discovery is com- 
plete it will go far to make something like a revolution in 
cookery, although for the present it can be turned to little 
practical result. It is an immense step in advance to be 
able to condense and preserve milk as we have it now ; 
when we are able to do so without destroying the milk 
for cooking purposes by the addition of sugar, a new day 
will dawn. There is no aliment more valuable than milk, 
more pleasurable, and more capable of being turned to 
variety of account ; but it is too thin for cooking purposes, 
and too apt to turn sour. It is a great gain to be able 
to have it now cheap, condensed to any desirable degree 
of thickness, and in a condition to keep sweet not only 
in the storeroom but also on the stomach. Its mixture 
with sugar, however, confines any use that can be made of 
it to the region of sweet entremets, where milk could always 
be turned to account. At present we have double cream put 
into sauces and soups. This is expensive, and economical 
housewives fight shy of it, while at the same time a goodly 
number of people with weak stomachs are afraid of its 
richness. Its use therefore in cookery is extremely limited, 
apart from sweets. But if the chemists will one day give us 
a thick milk, cheap, free from sugar, and easy of digestion, 
cooks will then have full swing, and can do what they like 
with it. The whole system of sauces will surely be re- 
modelled — the white sauces will have more of a chance 
against the brown — and we shall no more liave the cooks 
flying for flavour to their everlasting ham, and for a smooth 
mucilage to insipid veal. 



304 Mincemeat 



Mincemeat. — Two pounds of unsalted bullock's tongue 
two pounds of ox-kidne J fat ; two pounds of stoned raisins 
three pounds of currants ; two pounds of good apples 
half a pound of blanched almonds, with a jfew bitter ones 
mince all these separately, then mix them and add to them 
minced — half a pound of candied citron and orange peel ; 
one ounce of best cinnamon and cloves ; the juice and zest 
of three lemons ; half an ounce of salt ; half an ounce of 
allspice ; one pound of sifted sugar ; half a pint of sherry ; 
half a pint of brand j or pineapple rum ; half a pint of orange- 
flower water. Mix the solids well before the liquids are 
added. Press all into jars, which are to be close covered 
and put aside for some days before use. 

Mince Pies. — Line some pattypans with a rich pufF- 
paste, No. 4 or 5. Fill them witti mincemeat ; roof them 
over, making a small hole in the centre with a fork, and 
bake them for half an hour. 

Mincing Knife. — In most English kitchens there is used 
a chopper with a single blade, which does its work with a 
great expenditure of labour and loss of time. Try and get 
a large three-bladed knife. Imagine a semicircular blade 
like the Turkish scimitar which we see in pictures and 
sometimes in museums. Imagine three of these fixed 
parallel together, an inch apart, with one handle for all at 
each end. Imagine the ease of working such a knife by 
rocking it from end to end as compared with the ham« 
mering of a single-bladed chopper commonly in use. 

Mint Sauce. — Two tablespoonfuls of green mint, 
chopped fine ; a tablespoonful of brown sugar (or more, 
according to taste) ; and not far from a tumblerful of 
vinegar. 

MiREPOix. — It is probable that one of these days the 
common sense of mankind will rise in rebellion against 



Mirepotx J05 

this word and abolish it. What is the Duke of Mirepoix 
to us because his wife was amiable to Louis XV. ? 

« 

If she be not fair to me, 
What care I how fair she be ? 

The Duke of Mirepoix made himself convenient to the 
king, and his name is now convenient to the people — the 
convenient name for the faggot of vegetables that flavours 
a stew or a sauce. 

Take t^'^o carrots, two onions, two shalots, two bayleaves, 
a sprig of thyme, a clove of garlic ; mince them very small 
with half a pound of fat- bacon and half a pound of raw 
ham, and pass them in butter with pepper and salt. The 
Mirepoix is from this moment complete. It will afterwards, 
according to need, be moistened and heated with wine, and 
then it will be a Mirepoix of white wine or of red — to be 
added to stock or to sauce, to simmer in it and give it a 
flavour. 

The published receipts say nothing about the mincing. 
The direction is to simmer the Mirepoix for a couple of 
hours in order to extract the flavour, and then to strain it. 
On the other hand it will be found that to mince the 
Mirepoix fine with a three-bladed mincing knife (see 
Mincing Knife) will in ten minutes save a vast amount 
of time in cooking. It may require two hours to cook 
an onion or a carrot whole and to extract all their flavour ; 
but onions, carrots, and bayleaves reduced to minute par- 
ticles yield all their excellence in a minute or two. 

In another point the foregoing receipt differs from the 
received authorities. They enjoin a quantity of veal and 
much more ham. But the veal is waste — there is little or 
no flavour in the infant beef, and its only use is to render 
the Mirepoix gelatinous. There is not the same objection to 
the ham ; but it is not too much to say that since Spanish 
notions on cookery became fashionable in France, now nigh 
two hundred years \go, the great cooks of Europe have 
become demented about ham, and have made all their 

20 



3o6 Moisten 



sauces run upon gammon. More about this ham infatua- 
tion when we come to discuss the theory of the sauces. 

Moisten. — A mild word to be understood in the sense 
of Mrs. Gamp, who wished to have the gin-bottle near her 
on the chimneypiece in order that she might moisten her 
lips when so dispoged. To moisten is to put upon meat in 
a stewpan as much liquid — be it water or broth — as will 
stew it. 

MuLLAGATAWNY has been already discussed in the article 
on Grallimawfrey. It may be described as a cock-a-leekie 
without the leeks and the prunes, but with rice instead, 
and with spices, which are of the curry class. 

Cut down a fowl and boil it for half an hour in two quarts 
of water, with two apples, four onions and a clove of garlic, 
which have been cut to dice aud fried in butter. Then 
take a curry powder consisting of coriander, cassia, pepper, 
and turmeric ; mix it with some rice-flour ; stir it into the 
fowl broth ; and let all simmer till the soup is smooth and 
thick as cream. Flavour it with the juice of a lemon ; 
pass it through a strainer, to get rid of onion shreds ; serve 
the fowl and soup in a tureen — and rice either apart, which 
is the better way, or in the soup. 

Mullet. — See Red and Grey. 

Mushrooms require a volume to themselves. It is not 
possible here to give them more than a few lines. Their 
varieties are infinite ; and there is yearly an immense waste 
of them, through our inability to discern between the 
edible and the poisonous ones. Professor Schiff has de- 
monstrated that the non-edible mushrooms have a common 
-poison, muscarina, and that its eflects are counteracted 
either by atropine or daturine. Italian apothecaries now 
keep these alkaloids in the rural districts where the con- 
sumption of the non-edible fungi is apt to occur. Those 
mushrooms which are edible are full of nourishment and 



Mussels 307 



of the most exquisite flavoar. I have seen people with 
their eyes shut eat mushrooms — a variety which the 
French call ceps — and heard them declare that they were 
eating flesh. Of the enormous value of the mushroom in 
sauces and ragouts the reader has seen ample proof in the 
course of these pages. For the treatment of mushrooms 
by themselves there are two leading receipts. 

Stewed ifushrooms. — These are the Mushrooms k Tolivier 
invented by La Varenne, and since developed into the 
Duxelles. See Duxelles ; and see also TrufFes k I'ltalienne, 
which is but another form of the same receipt with the 
substitution of truffles for mushrooms. 

Grilled Mushrooms. — Peppered, salted, buttered and 
grilled. When, in addition to this, they are served with a 
sauce of oil or melted butter, to which parsley, young 
onions and garlic (all chopped) are added, together with 
the juice of a lemon, they are called Mushrooms k' la 
Bordelaise. 

Mussels are the oysters of the poor, said Grimod de la 
Reyni&re, and they ought to be favoured also by the rich, 
for there is scarcely a shell-fish which surpasses them in 
flavour. Especially in these days, when oysters are dear, 
mussels might occasionally take their place in sauces 
and stews. The French are wise, for they stiH hold the 
mussel in regard — it is one of the chief attractions of that 
noble ragout, the Normandy Matelote. In England — be 
it said with shame — ^the mussel is chiefly used for bait ; it 
is rarely to be seen at any good English table — it is only 
in houses where the French style of cookery reigns that it 
is to be had. People are afraid of mussels because once 
or twice they have proved to be hurtful. So have mush- 
rooms ; so have melons : but still mushrooms and melons 
are eaten. Mussel-poisoning must be extremely rare— or 
we should know more about it. Our science is not sa 



3o8 Mustard 



backward that if, among the myriads of mussels which the 
French consume, the cases of poisoning were numerous, 
we should not be able to detect the cause. If (are is taken 
not to eat the mussels in those months which have no 
letter B in their names there is little danger. 

Mussel Sauce, — Proceed as for ovster sauce. Let there 

9/ 

be no lack of mussels, and remove the hard parts. 

Mustard, in the form which at present prevails in 
England, was not known before 1729. Its old English 
name was senvy, from sinapis. The seeds, either whole or 
coarsely pounded, were boiled in vinegar or must — ^>vhence 
the name, meaning a kind of pickle. The French to this 
day adhere very much to the old form ; they grind the 
seeds to a fine flour, mix them with tarragon vinegar, and 
present them for use thus moistened. English mustard 
as we now have it was the invention of an old lady, 
Mrs. Clements of Durham. She ground the seeds in a 
mill exactly like wheat, and sold it as a very fine flour. 
She kept her secret and made a little fortune out of it, 
trotting about from town to to^Ti on a packhorse for 
orders, and contriving to secure the patronage of George I. 
From her place of manufactory it came to be called Durham 
mustard ; though in fact it was no longer mustard — that 
is, something steeped in must. 

Mutton. — I hope it will not be found very inconveni- 
ent, but there has been so much to say about mutton under 
special and interesting names, that there is little left for 
remark under its own proper name. The subject of mutton 
broth has been discussed under the names of Scotch Broth 
and Hotch Potch. The principles of boiled mutton have 
been set forth in the article on Boiling. The principles of 
roast mutton are set forth in the articles on Hoastingj on 
the Saddle of Mutton, and on the Breton way of serving 
the gigot or leg. The Carbonade has an article to itself 



Navarin 309 



and is further handled in the articles on the Shoidder of 
Mutton and on the Prince of Soubise. The stews of mutton 
will be found amply described under the various names of 
Haricot of Afuttoriy Hotck Potchy Irish SteWy Navarin, and 
Ragout of Mutton. There remain the mutton chops and 
cutlets, for which direetions will be found in the articles on 
the Grilly on the cutlet k la Bretonne, k la Maintenon^ k la 
Sovbise. The mutton pie, otherwise known as the Devon- 
shire, the Cornish or Squab pie, is described in the article 
on Irish Stew. The smaller mutton pie should have been 
described in recording the merits of the celebrated Kit- 
Kat. And there is more about mutton in the articles On 
Kidneysy Sheep s Heady Sheep*s Trotters and Ejngrams. 




jAVARIN is a stupid word which has arisen 
from a desire to get rid of the unintelligible 
and misleading name, Haricot de mouton, 
without falling back on the vulgar phrase, 
Ragoiit de mouton. It was at first selected with a 
thought of punning upon the navet or turnip, which is 
so prominent in the Haricot de mouton as not exactly 
to have suppressed, but to have thrown into the back- 
ground and concealed in the sauce, the other vegetables — 
carrots and onions — which went along with it. On this 
understanding the word may be allowed to pass, although 
punning titles are not to be desired. Let us say, therefore, 
that a navarin is a ragout of mutton in the garniture of 
which the navet or turnip is supreme. When the combined 
English and French fleets gained the battle of Navarino, 
Lord Aberdeen, who was the English Foreign Minister 
described it as *^ an untoward event," and the phrase has 
never been forgotten. Let it be a warning to the cooks, 



3IO Navarin 



and never let it be said that the Nayarino of the kitchen is 
an untoward event. 

Take the breast of mutton and cut it in pieces, which 
are to be well trimmed of fat. Line the bottom of a 
saucepan with slices of onion, on which lay the mutton, 
and with it two sliced carrots, two bayleaves, some 
thyme, and half a pint of broth, which is to be boiled 
until it falls to a glaze. Then add two ladlefuls either 
of broth or of water, together with salt, and let all 
simmer for two hours ; at the end of which time the 
sauce, all except the thyme and bayleaf, is to be pressed 
through a sieve, and the meat may be boned. Now turn 
some turnips nicely, and pass them in butter till they are 
of a light-brown tint : dredge them with a tablespoonful 
of flour, give them a shake, pour over them the sauce of 
the mutton, add a" pinch of sugar, and let them cook. 
When they are done enough, see that the sauce is not too 
thin. If too thin, reduce it, first taking out the turnips. 
In any case, remove the top fat. Then add turnips and 
sauce to the mutton, and let them get hot together. 

A quicker way. — Cut the mutton (be it neck, shoulder 
or breast) in pieces, and trim them. Make a roux of 
butter and flour, in which as soon as it takes colour 
the meat is to be fried for a quarter of an hour. Hot 
water is then to be added, and the meat turned in it 
till it boils ; and the scum can be removed. In the mean- 
time turnips are prepared as before, and are added to the 
mutton, along with pepper, salt, a faggot of herbs, and an 
onion pricked with a couple of cloves. Cook this for three- 
quarters of an hour. Finally take out the onion and the 
faggot of herbs ; get rid of all grease, add a pinch of sugar, 
and see that the salting is right. 

It must be evident that the above ragout may be made 
to include other vegetables — as a Jardiniere — either in 
place of the turnips or in addition to them. The English 
have long since made up their minds that turnips and 



Nesselrode Pudding 311 

mutton go well together — but they always understand by 
this, boiled mutton and turnips plain boiled or mashed. 
Here it will be seen that the French are so far in accord, 
but they insist upon a stew in which both the mutton and 
the turnips shall be browned ; and to attain this fine con- 
junction pure and simple, they have gradually put out of 
sight, though they have not utterly swept away from their 
world-famous ragoul^ or haricot, the other vegetables, the 
onions and carrots, which used to figure in it. May I 
recommend my English friends to study this simplicity. 
Better take one good friend — the turnip — to your breast 
of mutton, than trouble it with a crowd of vegetables. 

Nebuchadi^ezzar, king of Babylon, a great name in 
the chronology of the table. He invented salads, was 
accused of eating grass, and like most originals was said 
to be mad. 

Nectarine is a smooth peach, and there are not a few 
who maintain that it is the best of all peaches. It is a 
curious fact that on a peach tree, not only may branches 
be found bearing the nectarine perfect in every M^ay, but 
also on the same branch fruits will appear whidi are 
peach on one side and nectarine on the other. Botanists 
are unable to tell what makes the difference. 

Nesselrode Pudding was invented many years ago by 
Mony, cook to the famous Count Nesselrode. When 
Car^me heard of this, which is perhaps the most perfect 
of the iced puddings, he almost burst with envy. He 
could not but praise the pudding — but he declared that 
Mony took the idea of it from the chestnut pudding 
invented by himself. Moreover, he upbraided Mony for 
conferring the name of a foreigner upon so good a 
pudding. All the good cooks, he insisted, are French, 
and therefore all the good names should be French too. 
Carfime, however skilful as a cook, was a blazing cox- 



312 Nesselrode Pudding 

comb ; he gave the names of his physician and private 
friends to many of his dishes, and he fancied that the 
world would care enough for his decree to accept these 
names for ever. Surely if Mony had a right to accept 
service with Count Nesselrode, he had a perfect right to 
give his patron's name to the great work of art which he 
evolved under his roof. The following receipt is trans- 
cribed from Gouff($, who announces that he had it direct 
from his old friend Mony : — 

" Peel forty chestnuts ; blanch them in boiling water for 
five minutes ; peel ofi^ the second skin, and put them in 
a stewpan with a quart of syrup at 16**, and a stick of 
vanilla. Simmer gently till the chestnuts are done, drain 
and press them through a fine hair sieve. 

" Put eight yolks of egg in a stewpan with half a pound 
of pounded sugar and a quart of boiled cream. Stir over 
the fire without boiling till the egg begins to thicken. 
Add the chestnut pur^e, and press the whole through a 
tammy cloth into a basin, and add a gill of Maraschino. 

" Stone one quarter-pound of raisins and wash and pick 
one quarter-pound of currants. Cook both together in 
one half-gill of syrup at 30° and one gill of water ; drain, 
and let them cool. 

" Put a freezing pot in the ice ; pour in the chestnut 
cream and work it with the spatula ; when it is partly 
frozen, add three gills of whipt cream, and continue work- 
ing with the spatula until the cream is frozen ; then add 
the currants and raisins, and put the pudding into an ice- 
mould ; close it, and put some butter on the opening, to 
prevent any salt or water penetrating inside ; embed the 
mould in ice, and let it remain there for two hours. 

" Make the sauce as follows : Put three gills of boiled 
cream in a stewpan, with eight yolks of egg and a quarter- 
pound of pounded sugar ; stir over the fire without boiling 
till the egg begins to thicken ; take off the fire, and stir 
for three minutes more. Strain the custard through a 



Nowell 3 1 3 

tammy cloth and add half a gill of Maraschino. Put the 
sauce on the ice until it is very cold, without freezing. 
Turn the pudding out of the mould on to a napkin on 
a dish ; and serve with the sauce in a boat.'' 

This is the most insidious of puddings, and it was a 
matter of necessity to give it the name of some great 
diplomatist. The quantities as above rendered are large, 
but it is easy to take a half, a third, or a fourth. 

Nbwton, Sir Isaac, was particularly fond of red-streak 
apples — ^his one great animal passion. A curious illustra- 
tion of the fact that a love of food concentrated in some 
one direction may lead to the grandest discoveries. The 
interest which he took in a falling apple led to the discovery 
of the solar system. 

Nottingham Pudding. — Under the heading of Apple. 

Nowell. — It would be unpardonable, in a wor,k which 
treats seriously of good cheer, to forget the name of Dean 
Nowell, classed by Fuller among the worthies of England. 
This excellent divine had a truly apostolical character^ 
being a fisher of men as well as of fishes. To him we are 
indebted for the Church Catechism, which instils into the 
infant mind the elements of religious knowledge. To him 
also we are indebted for the discovery of bottled beer. It 
appears, according to Fuller, that on one occasion he was 
fishing in the Thames — but at the very time when he was 
trying to catch perch to carry them to the gridiron, Bishop 
Bonner was trying to catch him to tie him to the stake. 
The reverend gentleman heard of it, and fled in haste, 
leaving untasted in a safe place a bottle of beer which he 
had filled in the morning. Bonner's day did not last long, 
and Dean Nowell was soon able to return to his old haunts. 
Fishing as usual, he went to look after his bottle of beer, 
and found that it had turned to something like a gun — it 
went off like a shot. Thus Nature, which is ever kind, 



314 Noyau 

turned the martyrdom and misery of Bloody Mary*s reign 
to good — it brought about bottled beer. The Dean un- 
bosomed himself of his great discovery to his derical 
friends, and the clergj" gradually let it out to the laitj'. So 
to one man — a kindly, good old man, fond of fishing, we 
are indebted for our earliest instruction in heavenly things, 
and for that bottled beer which nerves the soul to noble 
deeds. 

Noyau. — The French claim for themselves the glorv of 
being the first and the best liqueur makers in the world. 
They are by no means the first in point of time : and so 
long as we can point to such foreign liqueurs as Acqua 
d'oro, Maraschino, Kirschenwasser, Cura^oa, and Kiimmel, 
it would be hard to allow them the pre-eminence in manu- 
facture. Noyau, however, is peculiarly their own, and is 
a good second-rate liqueur. It is made from a combina- 
tion of white brandy with apricot kernels. Sometimes it 
is coloured pink. 

Nut-brown Butter. — See Butter. 

Nutmeg. — There was scarcely a dish in the olden time 
which was not flavoured wnth nutmeg ; and Boileau, in his 
satire, could ask — 

/ 

I 

Aimez voub la muscade ? on en a nus partout. 

It has been so ridiculed that we have now gone to the other 
extreme ; and it is rarely if ever used, except for sweet 
dishes. It will no doubt one of these days recover a good 
d^al of the favour it has lost, and we shall not confine 
ourselves to mace, which is its husk. 



Oil 315 




|IL. — Pliny makes an interesting remark about 
oil. ^i It is not with olive oil as with wine ; 
for by age it acquires a bad flavour, and 
at the end of a year it is already old. 
This is a wise provision of nature. Wine, which tends 
to drunkenness, she invites us to keep ; but she has 
not willed that we should be thus sparing of oil, and 
so has rendered its use common and universal by the 
very necessity of using it while fresh." The French are 
wonderfully proud of their olive-trees, but the chief supply 
for England comes from Italy and Spain : from Italy we 
get 12,000 tuns a year, from Spain 5,000. The next lar- 
gest supplies come in order from Portugal, Tripoli, Malta, 
Greece ; and from France we obtain no more than 300 tuns 
— a tun being 252 gallons. The French pride themselves 
on the fact that their olives are gathered in November 
and December, while in Italy they are left on the tree all 
winter, and are culled in February and March. The olive 
in poetry betokens fruitfulness ; but if French accounts be 
true, there is not much felicity in the emblem. An olive- 
tree at twelve years of age yields on an average three kilo- 
grammes of olives, making 240 grammes of oil, worth 60 
centimes ; at twenty years its yield is worth 1 fr. 50 c; at 
thirty years, 2 fr. 55 a ; at forty years 3 fr. 80 c. ; and at a 
hundred years 9 fr. 95 c. The whole of this fruitful tree 
being at twelve years old worth only sixpence, what are 
the olive-branches worth of which we hear so much ? 

Good olive oil is not over abundant ; and that is indeed 
one of the reasons why many people in England cannot 
bear it. About 1000 years ago (a.d. 817) it was so 
scarce in Europe that the council of Aix la Chapelle 
authorised the priests to manufacture anointing oil from 
bacon. Imagine divine right shed over kings in the 
essential oil of s^dne ; and imagine how, as the Hindoo 



3i6 Olla Podrida 



now dies happy with the tail of a cow in his hand, the good 
Christian of those dajs went shining to heaven in the 
extreme unction dropped from a flitch of bacon. We are 
driven to no such straits in these days, when oil bubbles 
up in wells, and fortunes are made by striking it from the 
rock ; but still it is not easy to get the oil of Lucca good, 
and it is much adulterated with inferior kinds. The best 
olive oil in London is to be had at the Italian shop of 
Perelli-Rocco, No. 8, Greek Street, Soho. 

Olla Podrida. — " This word — Olla — ^means at once a 
species of prepared food, and the earthenware utensil in 
which it is dressed . . . The olla is only well made in 
Andalucia, and there alone in careful, well appointed 
houses : it is called a puchero in the rest of Spain, where 
it is but a poor afiair . . . 

" The veritable olla is difficult to be made : a tolerable 
one is never to be eaten out of Spain, since it requires 
many Spanish things to concoct it, and much care. It 
may be made in one pot, but two are better. They must 
be of earthenware, like the French pot au feu. Put them 
on their separate stoves, with water. Place into No. 1 
garbanzos which have been placed to soak over night. 
Add a good piece of beef, a chicken, a large piece of 
bacon ; let it boil once and quickly ; then let it simmer : 
it requires four or five hours to be well done. Meanwhile 
place into No. 2, with water, whatever vegetables are to 
be had — lettuces, cabbage, a slice of gourd, carrots, beans, 
celery, endive, onions and garlic, with beef and long 
peppers. These must be previously well washed and cut, 
as if they were destined to make a salad ; then add red 
sausages or chorizos, half a pig's face salted, which should 
have been soaked over night. When all is sufficiently 
boiled, strain oiBP the water. Remember constantly to 
skim the scum off both saucepans. When all is ready, 
take a large dish, lay in the bottom the vegetables, the 



Omelet 3 1 7 

beef in the centre, flanked by the bacon, chicken, and 
pig's face. The sausages should be arranged around en 
couranne. Pour over some of the soup of No. 1, and serve 
hot." (Abridged from Ford's Handbook of Spain.) 

In spite of Ford's protest, there is nothing in this receipt 
which cannot be procured in London. The garbanzos are 
chick peas, which are to be procured at Francisco FiguFs, 
10, Woburn Buildings, Tavistock Square. But surely it 
is not to be said that the Spanish OUa depends on the 
garbanzos, and that no other peas will do. The Chorizos 
are also to be obtained at the same Spanish shop, which 
was of old recommended by Ford. In the absence of 
Chorizos use Frankfort sausages. As for the necessity 
of an earthen pot — that is a delusion, if the true use of 
earthenware is understood. See article Soup. 

Omelet. — It was long supposed that an omelet derived 
its name somehow from ovum, an egg, and might mean 
o^ufs mel^s. That etymology has been given up as imprac- 
ticable bv French scholars. It has been reserved for M. 
Jerome de Pichon, in his very able edition of the Mhmgier 
de Paris, to declare that the word takes its rise from 
lamina^ a leaf or thin sheet, whence the Latin diminutive 
Lamella, in English Lamel. He has not, however, clearly 
traced out the steps by which we travel from Lamella to 
Omelette. In the iUnagier de Paris, composed about 
1390, the name for an omelet is Alumelle, corrupted 
into Alumette, which yet again appears as Aumelette. 
If Alumelle comes from Lamella, whence came the initial 
A ? It is strictly in accordance with French law that Al 
should contract into Au ; but we have first of all to account 
for the presence of that initial A. The explanation may 
come hereafter. All we can vouch for now is that 500 
years ago the name for an omelet was written Alumelle, 
Alumette, and Aumelette. 

Omelet — plain, — Break six eggs into a bowl, season them 



3 1 8 Omelet 

with pepper and salt, and beat ihem with a fork. Put two 
ounces of butter into an omelet pan, and as soon as it 
melts pour in the eggs. Stir them lightly with a fork and 
keep them from catching the pan. When half-set^ tosd the 
omelet, and keep stirring it till it is all set. The finishing 
operation is performed in one of two ways. Practised 
hands slant the pan downwards from the handle — taking 
care, however, that the best of the fire is beneath the upper 
or handle end : they then roll the omelet downwards till it 
takes the form of an elongated oval. A more simple plan 
is merely to fold over the omelet, on both sides to the 
proper elliptical shape. In either case the operation must 
be performed rapidly. 

Omelet vnth fine-herbs, — Beat the eggs with a tablespoon- 
fiil of chopped parsley, and if the onion flavour is admired, 
with a chopped shalot which has been first blanched. 

Omelet with gravy (Omelette an jus). — The same as the 
last, with a little gravy served round it. 

Omelet with cheese. — Some grated Gruyfere added to the 
beaten eggs instead of the fine-herbs, and afterwards strewed 
over the omelet in the dish. 

Omelet with bacon. — Boil a quarter-pound of bacon for 
five or six minutes ; cut it into small squares ; fry them in 
a little butter, and then add them to the beaten eggs of the 
first receipt — which, however, should have a diminished 
allowance of salt. 

Omelet with kidneys, — Cut up a couple of kidneys into 
dice or into thin slices. Put thein into the omelet pan 
with butter and some of the kidney fat. When the butter 
and the fat are melted, and the pieces of kidnej' are quite 
hot, pour in the beaten eggs and proceed as before. 

Omelet with asparagus, — Boil the asparagus, take the 
points and mix them wi^ the beaten eggs. 



Omelet 319 

- - — — 

Omelet with tomatos, — Take the flesh of the tomatos free 
from skin and pips, and mix with the beaten eggs. 

\ Sweet Omelet, — Beat six eggs and add to them two tea- 

i| spoonfuls of sngar, together with a few bits of butter. As 

a rule the eggs for an omelet are not to be too much 
beaten, but for the sweet omelet they may be beaten even 
to frothing a little. Then pour them into the omelet pan, 
and proceed as for the plain omelet; only, on account of the 
sugar, which might bum, the fire must not be so brisk. 
When the omelet is dished, it is sprinkled with sugar, and 
with a red-hot iron 'skewer it is marked with cross-bars. 

Omelet with rum. — This is a sweet omelet with a glass of 
rum whipt into the eggs. It is sprinkled with sugar on 
the dish, and at the moment of serving it a glass of rum 
is poured over it and lighted. 

Apricot Omelet — This is the preserve which is the most 
frequently used with the omelet. Proceed as for the sweet 
omelet in every respect, only that before folding it up there 
is to be placed in the centre of it a fitting quantity of 
apricot jam. 

Omelette Souffle. — Take six eggs and break them, 
dividing the whites from the yolks. All the whites are to 
be used, but only half the yolks. Whip the whites to a 
very firm froth. Then add to them the yolks, shake in 
the best part of two ounces of sifted sugar, and sprinkle 
all with orange-flower water. Make a smooth mound 
with this upon an oval disL In the centre of it put a 
knife down, giving it a twist, so as to make a hole for the 
heat to spread quickly into the middle of the omelet, which 
may also be rudely ornamented by drawing slant lines with 
the point of the knife all round its sides. Put it into a 
brisk oven for seven minutes. It must be served instantly, 
for the inflation rapidly subsides; but before serving 
sprinkle it with what is lef of the two ounces of sugar. 



320 Onion 

Any oiiher flavour than the orange-flower water may be 
selected. Bub a little into the sugar, or mix some essence 
of lemons with the yolks. 

Onion. — In England we give the name of onion to all 
the plants of the onion tribe. The leek is to us an onion , 
and so is garlic and the shalot. In old Emglish the leek was 
the type, — and garlic was but a gar-leek — a spear-headed 
leek. In the language of science, garlic is made the 
standard, and the onion is but a species of allium or garlic- 
It may be taken for granted that of all the flavouring 
substances used in cookery the onion is, after salt, the 
most valuable ; and cunningly concealed in a sauce, in a 
stew, or in a soup, it yields enjoyment even to those who 
would carefully put it from them if they saw it. 

Onion Sauce, — See the Soubise sauce, the Breton sauce, 
and the Sauce Bobert. 

Onion Soup in France is supposed to have the most 
amazing restorative virtue. The follo^*ing is known as 
the Marquis de Cussy's favourite soup : — Peel twenty 
small onions, cut them in slices, and fry them of a good 
colour in a stewpan with fresh butter and a little sugar. 
Then moisten them with broth, and let them simmer for 
an hour. Towards the end of the process add crusts of 

bread : and when about to serve the soup, throw in a 
wineglassful of old brandy. 

Fried OnioTw.— One word as to the French way of 
frying them, which results in something far more delicate 
than the strong-smelling, overpowering English dish of 
the same name. The onions ought to be fresh and juicy. 
Slice them crosswise, so as to produce rings. Shake these 
rings in flour till they are well covered. Then put them 
into a wire basket, and dip them in the frj'ing-kettle of 
hot beef fat for flve or six minutes. Drain them, sprinkle 
them with a little salt, and serve them. 



Oxford 321 

Orange Sauce, for wild ducks and other such fowl. 
Boil half a pint of brown gravy^ and add a somewhat less 
quantity of claret, with salt, cayenne, the strained juice of 
two Seville, oranges and a scraping of the zest. 

Orgeate, as its name shows, was formerly nothing but 
barley water. This was flavoured sometimes with Jemon^ 
sometimes with almonds. By degrees the almond flavour 
began to predominate, and almond milk was found to be 
so agreeable by itself that it displaced the barley altogether, 
Orgeate now is nothing but almond milk. The old drink, 
however, may still be obtained under the name of barley 
water. 

Ortolan or Garden Bunting. — Treat the ortolan as a 
quail or as a lark. It is useless to say more in a country 
where for the most part we have to eat the ortolan, like the 
becafico, in imagination. As much as a guinea apiece has 
been paid for ortolans in England. Fortunately in these 
days of the railway they can be obtained at a much less 
price ; but the fat little monsters are still much too dear 
for any but long purses and rare occasions. 

Oxford. — It is not a comforting reflection that our 
two most ancient and renowned universities, with all their 
scholarship, all the wisdom of the classics to command, 
and all the heights of philosophy beneath their feet, have 
been able to add to the enjoyments of the table nothing 
more than an humble sausage. What is learning, what 
is science, if this be its farthest reach — to evolve only a 
sausage from the inner consciousness? Each University 
has one ; but Oxford has certainly the best of it. Whereas 
both of these great schools chop logic and pork, Oxford in 
addition chops veal and the &t df beeves. 

Oxford Sausage, — Mince one pound each of prime 
young pork, veal, and the freshest beef fat, all cleared of 
skin and sinews ; steep the crumb of a twopenny loaf in 

21 



322 Oxtail 

milk and water ; grate a little zest of lemon, also a little 
nutmeg ; chop a few sage leaves and some thyme ; and 
pound a small quantity of long pepper and salt. Wxsi all 
together and press it down close in a pan for use. It 
may be stuffed in skins like other sausage meat ; but is 
generally rolled out as wanted, and either fried in fresh 
butter of a fine brown colour or broiled over a clear fire. 
This is what ages of learning have taught the wise men 
of the Isis to fix upon as the only preparation of food to 
which the name of Oxford may worthily be linked. 

Oxford Punch. — The great characteristic of this punch 
is its having a quantity of calf s foot jelly dissolved in it. 
The wise men of the Isis respect the name of their township, 
and have decreed that the kine from which it takes its 
name should not only ford their river, but should also 
enter into their sausages in the form of beef fat and 
youthful undergraduate veal, and should, in the frisky 
form of calf s feet, gambol into their punch. 

Oxtail. — Mr. Punch not long ago gave a revised list of 
the thirty-nine articles of an Englishman's &ith. I have 
forgotten whether the first was Oxtail soup or Shakespeare, 
and whether the second was Shakespeare or Oxtail soup ; 
but at all events these were the first two. This oxtail, 
in which we now take a national pride, was originally 
Huguenot, and we learned the taste for it from the poor 
Protestant refugees who settled about Bermondsey. In 
this region of the tanners there is or was a place known as 
The Borgeney — ^Petty Burgundy. The Huguenots, when 
they saw oxhides abounding about them, thought they could 
make something of the tails, which were then sold with the 
hides. They made an excellent soup. A philanthropist 
who happened to be a lover of good cheer was in the habit 
of visiting the homes of the poor Frenchmen here at Spital- 
fields and there at Petty Burgundy. In Petty Burgundy 



Oysters 323 

he came upon the oxtail soap ; he opened his eyes, and he 
made such a proclamation of the goodness of the tanners' 
soap that it became at once fashionable, and now Mr. 
Punch can speak of it as among the first and foremost of 
an Englishman's thirty-nine articles of faith. 

Oatail Soup. — Take two large or three small oxtails, 

divided at the joints, and soak them well in lukewarm water. 

Then put them into a stewpan with a pound of ham or 

knuckle of bacon, three quarts of cold water, an ounce 

and a half of salt ; set them on the fire to boil, and remove 

the scum. When the scum ceases to rise add three carrots, 

three onions, two turnips, a head of celery, a faggot of 

sweet-herbs, six cloves, and a dozen peppercorns. Stew 

all gently for three hours, and then take out the oxtails. 

Strain the broth, get rid of the fat, put back the tails, 

thicken the soup with arrowroot or rice-flour, and finish it 

to taste with cayenne, salt, a spoonful of ketchup, and it 

may be a glassful of Marsala. If the oxtails are stewed 

longer they will yield an extremely gelatinous soup, but 

the meat will be in rags and unfit for presentation; 

Stewed Ojctail. — Take an oxtail disjointed, and soak it 
well in lukewarm water. Then put with it in a stewpan a 
couple of onions, a couple of carrots, a faggot of sweet- 
herbs, and broth enough to cover it. Or for another com- 
bination put it into the stewpan with a Mirepoix of white 
wine, and with broth enough, as before, to cover all. 
Simmer it very gently for two or three hours. The oxtail 
may then be dished, and it may be sauced and garnished in a 
variety of ways. If surrounded with its gravy (strained), 
and garnished with lettuce brazed in the French way and 
intermingled with carrots, it is called Queue de Boeuf en 
hochepot It may also be garnished with a Macedon of 
vegetables, with a pur^e of lentils, or with either the 
Soubise or the Breton pur^e of onions.. 

Oysters. — More than two hundred years ago Thomas 



3 24 Oysters 

Fuller said that the best m England were the fat, salt, 
green-finned sort bred near Qolchester. Since then, 
althongh the green-finned oysters are prized above all 
others on the Continent, they have come to be slighted in 
England through a fear that the greenness may be the 
effect of copper. Mr. Frank Buckland, however, has 
recently written : " I am glad to inform the public that 
the green-bearded oysters native to the river Roach (not 
far from Southend, Essex) are about to be introduced into 
the London market. For over a hundred years this kind 
of British oyster has been shipped ria Ostend to the Paris 
and Continental markets, where, under the name of ' Les 
huitres verts d'Ostende,' they have been and are' considered 
a great delicacy. The reason why oyster-eaters in England 
have not hitherto availed themselves of these home-bred 
oysters is that their beards (i.e., breathing gills) are in the 
winter months more or less tinged with a green pigment. 
This peculiar green is imparted to them by the sporules of 
the seaweed called crow-silk, which grows abundantly in 
the Roach river. Dr. Letheby's analysis has pronounced 
this pigment to be purely vegetable, without the slightest 
trace of copper or other mineral. I consider that this 
vegetable pigment imparts a peculiar taste and agreeable 
flavour to the meat of these plump little oysters. For 
many years I have been trying to persuade the Messrs. 
J. and F. Wiseman, oyster merchants, of Paglesham, Roch- 
ford, Essex, to send their natives to the home markets. 
The present scarcity of oysters has now induced them to 
supply the English rather than the French markets. The 
shells are thin and porcelain-like, and the proportion of 
meat to shell in my catalogue of oysters is one-fifth." 
The English are not only peculiar in their recent dislike 
to the green-finned oyster ; they are so likewise in their 
manner of opening all oysters. In Scotland and in France 
oysters are always opened and left iu the hollow half of the 
shell which retains the brine : in England the oyster is 



Oysters 325 

left on the flat shell from which the liquor drains off. If, 
however, one could sometimes see the dirty liquor in which 
oysters lie ready for opening, and in which they are opened 
behind the oyster bar of some fish shops, perhaps there 
would be no desire to taste the oyster at all, and certainly 
none to see it in the hollow shell bathed in discoloured 
brine. 

Oyster Sauce. — Boil two dozen oysters very gently in 
their own liquor for five minutes, always remembering 
that quick boiling will harden them ; then drain them and 
beard them. Go through the first step of making English 
sauce, using the liquor of the oysters (strained, of course) 
instead of water, and adding, an equal quantity of milk. 
Put in the oysters, heat up the sauce, and lastly melt into 
it — but no more than melt — an ounce of butter. For a 
broiled beefsteak it is preferable to use good brown gravy 
'instead of the milk. 

Oyster Soup, — Take twenty-four oysters : remove the 
fins or beards and tendons, and put all together — oysters, 
fins and tendons — to simmer for ten minutes in their own 
liquor, along with a small sole. The sole, the fins and the 
tendons are then to be pounded in a mortar and passed 
into a stewpan, with the liquor of the oysters, a quart of 
water, or still better fish-stock, a faggot of sweet-herbs, 
and a few peppercorns. Let it boil for fifteen or twenty 
minutes, and then work into it an ounce of butter kneaded 
into an ounce of flour till the flour be thoroughly cooked. 
The soup can then be strained into a tureen ; thickened 
with a leason composed of one yolk of egg and two table- 
spoonfuls of cream ; seasoned with cayenne and salt ; and 
finally populated with the oysters. 

Oyster Forcemeat. — See Forcemeat No. 4. 

Scalloped Oysters (Hultres enCoquille). — These are oysters 
done either in scallop shells or in metal dishes made to 



3'26 Oysters 

imitate them. Blanch and b^ard the oysters — some dozens. 
Then pnt them into a stewpan with their ovm liqnor^ a little 
batter, some chopped parsley, some pepper, and a glass of 
Chablis. Take out the oysters and put them into the shells; 
at the same time reducing the sauce and adding to it a 
leason of two yolks and some lemon-juice. Pour the sauce 
over the oysters intermingled with fine breadcrumbs, heap 
breadcrumbs over all, bedew them ^dth melted butter, and 
brown them before the fire in a Dutch oven, or in baking 
tins in an ordinary oven. 

Oysters — called in France le^-ficts-y-le^-laissent — fools' 
leavings. Two peculiarly succulent morsels found on the 
backs of fowls. There is a storv of Brillat-Savarin told 
by Talleyrand and reported by Haj'ward. He was on his 
way to Lyons, and proposed to dine at Sens. On his 

arrival he sent for the cook and asked what there was for 

• 

dinner. The cook had very little to off*er, and M. Savarin 
determined to go to the kitchen to see for himself. In the 
kitchen he found four turkeys roasting. " What is this ? " 
he said. " You told me you had nothing in the house. 
Tict me have one of these turkeys." " Impossible," was 
the reply; "they are all bespoken for a gentleman 
upstairs." " He must have a large party to need four 
turkeys." "No," said the cook; "he dines by himself." 
*' How I should like to see the man who orders four 
turkeys for his own eating 1" Brillat-Savarin went to 
pay his respects to the stranger, and found his own son. 
" What, yo]i rogue, four turkeys all to yourself! " "Yes, 
sir," said the son : " you know that whenever I dine with 
you, you eat up all the oysters ; I was resolved to enjoy 
myself once in a way — and here I am." 



Pancakes 327 




[ALATES. — Those of the ox are alone worthy 
of trouble. They are to be blanched for ten 
minutes, cooled, drained, carefully scraped, 
and divided in two lengthways. They are then 
to be simmered for three hours, with, say half a pint of 
broth for each palate, half an ounce of butter, fat or dripping, 
together with a faggot of sweetrherbs, an onion, a carrot, a 
clove, and some salt When they are ready drain them on 
a cloth, remove fat, and serve them with a Poulette sauce. 

Palestine Soup. — The name given to soup made from 
the Girasole, ignorantly called the Jerusalem artichoke. 

Panada — for forcemeat Soak in warm water the 
crumb of fine bread. When it is quite moist and soft put 
it in a doth and wring out the water. Then put it into 
a saucepan with a lump of butter and a little salt, and beat 
it smooth and dry over a very slow fire, taking care that 
it browns in no way. Put it aside to cool. Instead of 
butter, milk may be used, or a little white broth. 

P^CAKES. — It is a curious unaccountable fact that if 
one asks for a pancake in Paris one has to wait nearly half 
an hour for it, and if one asks for an omelet suddenly from 
an English cook one has to wait about the same time. 
Neither pancake nor omelet need take more than five 
minutes at any time. 

Pancakes plain, — Beat any number of eggs in a basin — 
say four. Mix with it the same number of ounces of flour 
— or say a small spoonful for every egg. Add sugar, some 
grated lemon-peel and nutmeg. Stir in milk enough to 
make it a smooth batter. Toss a ladleixil of this with 
butter in a small frying-pan. If the cake is very thin it 
need not be turned, but may be doubled up as it is with 
sprinkled sugar inside. It is usually made thicker, and 



328 Par/ait Afnaur 



then it has to be tamed. Serve it with ponnded sugar 
and sliced lemon. 

Pancakes royal, — Six eggs, five spoonfuls of flour^ three 
ounces of batter. All the rest as before. 

Pancakes ornate. — Spread with jam; apricot jam the 
favourite. 

PARFArr Amour unhappily is a liqueur which lives by its 
name and nothing else. We all like to taste that unknown 
bliss which is not to be found on earth, and we hope to 
find its semblance in the bottle. The liqueur is too true 
as a satire. Starting with the idea that love is a bitter- 
sweet, Parfait Amour is made of the bitter zest of limes, 
mollified with syrup, with the spirit of roses, and with spicy 
odours. It is in fact a kind of orange bitters spoilt. 
Whoever drinks of Parfiiit Amour says in his heart, This 
is a mistake. And therein lies the success of the liqueur : 
it has a rosy colour,^ it has a fine name, and it is nought. 
One trial is enough. 

In England in the olden time, when oranges were more 
scarce than they are now, it was the custom for a lover to 
give his sweetheart on New Year's Day, as an emblem of 
Perfect Love, an orange stuck all over with cloves. 

Parmentier first introduced potatoes into France, and 
the French, in gratitude, have affixed his name to their 
potato soup. One might have expected a like honour, 
in England at least, to the name of Sir Walter Raleigh, 
who brought the potato from America in 1586. He was 
in fact the discoverer of the potato, as Columbus was the 
discoverer of the New World. But as the New World 
has been named, not after Columbus but after his follower 
Amerigo, so the potato throughout Europe is connected 
with the name, not of Raleigh but of Parmentier. The 
town of Metz has raised a statue to Parmentier. 

Parsley is the crown of cookery. It once crowned men ; 



Partridge 329 

it now crowns their food. We wreath our fish with sprigs 
of parsley; it would be impossible to eat cold meat without 
garlands of it round the dish; and the crowning grace of 
many a sauce and stew comes from a shower of minute 
parsley shed upon^ it at the lasi There is no plant that is 
so much used in this way for coronation. 

Fried Parsley is indispensable for fried fish, croquettes, 
rissoles. It should be crisp, and is only to be well done in 
a wire basket dipped into the frying-kettle. If the fat be 
properly hot, a minute is enough, and more than enough. 
Let the parsley be first washed and thoroughly dried. 

Parsley Sauce is a name that might be given to several 
sauces, but is generally in England given to what in the 
French kitchen is known as maitre d'hdtel sauce. 

Parsnips — dressed as carrots^; but they require less 
time. 

Partridge. — There is an old controversy about the 
partridge. There is a tract called The Debate between the 
Heralds of France anxT England^ supposed to have been 
written by Charles, Duke of Orleans, between 1458 and 1461, 
and published about 1500. The heralds proclaim against 
each other the advantages of their several countries ; and 
the French one, when it comes to his turn, boasts that 
France has great red-legged partridges, while England has 
none : " And believe me," he cries, " these are delicious 
birds, fit for the palates of kings and princes." To this 
day in France the red-legged partridge or bartavelle is 
considered superior to the grey-legged sort which abounds 
in England, and always in the market it commands a 
higher price. When that great gastronomer. Dr. Lister, 
physician to Queen Anne, went to Paris in the beginning 
of last century, he made acquaintance with the red-legged 
partridge, and brought back word that it far excelled the 
grey kind. Englishmen generally, however, have not been 



330 Partridge 

of this opinion, and some have gone so far as to declare 
that red-legged partridges (which, by the way, are plentiful 
enough in the Eastern counties) are not worth eating. It 
is well that tastes should differ, and that when Jack Sprat 
can eat no fat his wife can eat no lean. Each one must 
speak for himself; and I give my vote with the French, in 
favour of the red-legs. Perhaps the Englishman has a 
spite against the red-legged partridge, because it does not 
rise to his gun like the common one, and yields him less 
sport. The French authorities lay down the maxim that 
whereas the English or grey-legged partridge is best young, 
the French or red-legged one is best at maturity. 

Hoast Partridge. — In England the partridge goes nearly 
always to the spit, though it sometimes also shows in a 
salmi — in which case, however, it has still to be first of 
all roasted. The French are mighty in stewed partridge, 
and never send any but young birds to be roasted. 
They have their perdrix and their perdreaux ; the former 
being the full-grown birds, the latter the chicks. It is 
only the perdreaux that ever figure amoijg the roasts in 
France. It does not follow that the French are right: 
no Englishman will allow this who remembers that they 
object to roast duck with green peas, and prefer brazed 
duck with turnips. But granting that partridges, young 
or old, are always best roasted, there may still be reason 
with the French, who seem never to delight more in the 
bird than when it appears as 

Perdrix aux Choux — Partridge with cabbage, salt pork, 
and sausage. Put a couple of birds into a stewpan with butter 
or good dripping, and pass them over the fire till they take 
colour, along with a piece of the hand of pork and a couple 
of onions, nailed with a couple of cloves. Moisten them 
then with broth, and add two carrots, a bayleaf, and some 
saveloy. Add also, trimmed, blanched, cut into quarters, 
and seasoned with pepper and salt; a Savoy cabbage ; and 



Pastry 331 

let all simmer together for an hour and a half. Then drain 
the cabbage and make a low hayrick of it upon a dish. On 
the top of the rick, or (for a Chartreuse) in the middle of 
it, lay the partridges, and round them the sausages and 
slices of pork, and over all a gravy made of the liquor 
they have stewed in, assisted, if need be, with veal gravy. 

Englishmen who are asked to admire this dish, which 
French cooks elaborate with extraordinary care, lavishing 
immense ingenuity on the Chartreuse of partridges, have 
a right to observe that the proverb Toujours Perdrix is 
eminently French, and would never have been thought of 
but for the Perdrix aux choux. 

Pass. — This is as orreat a word in cookerv as it is in 
legerdemain. "Pass! " says the juggler, and the pigeon 
vanishes. A French cook passes almost everything 
through a sieve, and according to the theory of evolution, 
he will himself one day pass through the sieve and become 
a puree. But the grand and peculiar use of the word for 
which it has a place in this dictionary implies a process of 
cookery. A cook will speak of passing a fowl, or a piece 
of meat, or vegetables. In the French kitchen they have 
not only the verb passer, but also (which is the same thing) 
/aire revenir. To pass is to pass in butter over the fire; 
in short, to fry lightly for a minute or two, so as to 
create a rich surface on what it is intended to finish by 
a different process of cooking — say by stewing. To pass 
iii a trifle of butter is to ftying what the preface is to the 
book, the prologue to the play and the overture to the 
opera. 

Pastry. — It has been said that the greatest discovery of 
the modem kitchen is pastry, and it would be difficult to 
name any other article of food which is better entitled to 
this praise. The discovery of America added much to the 
resources of the table ; and we have an immense advantage 
over the ancients in tea, coffee and chocolate. We owe 



332 Pastry 

these good things, however, to navigation ; whereas pastry 
we owe to the kitchen. It was quite within i;each of the 
ancients to invent the modem pie, and they failed to hit 
npon it. 
The following are the pastes most frequently in use : — 

1. Hot-water paste for raised pies — ^that is, pies baked 
without dishes or patiypans. Melt four ounces of butter 
in half a pint of hot water and work it with half an ounce of 
salt into a pound of flour. This is chiefly used in England. 
The French prefer the following because of the eggs. 

2. Cold-water paste for raised pies. Use the same 
quantities as for No. 1, but substitute three yolks of eggs 
for an equal displacement of water. This also makes a 
good short paste for ordinary pies. 

3. Pufl^ paste for a Vbl-au-vent, the lightest and leafiest, 
called by the French FeuiUetagp. This deserves to be 
mentioned before the more common kinds because, although 
it is the most difficult of all the pastes, it best illustrates 
the principle of the pufi^ pastes, and once mastered ensures 
a mastery of all the rest. 

Put a pound of flour on the pastry slab with about half 
an ounce of salt. Make a well in it for cold water, of 
which close on half a pint will be needed j. and mix it into 
a smooth paste. Dry it with flour until the slab is quite 
cleared, but work it as little as possible, and leave it alone 
for a minute or two to get cool from the heat of the hands 
before the next process begins, which has to do with the 
butter. Take a pound of butter, very cold, and with every 
drop of milk or water squeezed out of it, and press it out 
flat so as to form a square of something between nine and 
ten inches. It is not essential in practice to be too par- 
ticular about these numbers, which are given chiefly to 
make the principle clear. Roll out the paste to something 
between thirteen and fourteen inches square, — that is, such 
a size that when the butter square is put upon it diagonally, 
the four comers of the paste square folded over and meet- 



Pastry 333 

ing in the centre will completely envelope the batter. We 
have here a simple sandwich of paste and butter, and this 
is called the first turn, after it has been rolled out in one 
direction to the extent of, say thirty inches. Give it now 
a second turn — that is, fold it over in three, so as to renew 
the square ef ten inches, and roll it out again to thirty 
inches, but this time in a cross direction. We have now a 
triple sandwich in which there are four thin sheets of paste 
alternated with three of butter. Give it three turns more, 
— in all five turns— each time rolling it crosswise. At the 
end of the fifth turn we have a sandwich which, if the 
rolling were delicate and even, and if the paste and the 
butter were in perfect condition, ought, in theory at least, 
to consist of eighty-four thin films of paste alternated with 
eighty-three of butter. In practice this is not to be hoped 
for. One's touch is not always light and even ; the paste 
is apt to be sticky and the butter to melt ; and many of the 
films under pressure will smudge into one another. We 
must be content if we can make sure of a goodly number 
of films remaining perfect. And to make sure of this, there 
is a step in the process which has not yet been mentioned. 
This is to cool the paste between the turns. How often, 
and how much it should be cooled will depend on the time 
of year. In warm weather, when the butter is apt to 
fiow and the paste to stick, it should certainly be cooled, 
if not between every turn, at least twice. This is done 
by transferring the paste to a fioured baking-sheet, and 
placing it either on ice or in a draught of air. Say that 
it is left to cool for half an hour between the second and 
third turns and for a quarter of an hour between the 
fourth and fifth. 

A piece of paste a quarter of an inch thick prepared 
thus carefully will puff up to five, six, and even eight times 
its original height. Dexterity is required, but the great 
thing is to understand the meaning of the process. In 
short paste the butter is kneaded with the flour^ and 



334 Pastry 

becomes part of the paste. In paff paste the bntter and 
the paste are separate and there is no mixing or kneading 
— only wjjat may be called fine sandwiching. The flour is 
made into a paste by itself, which by successive rollings is 
divided into thinner and thinner layers separated one ft-om 
another by layers of butter, which by tiie same rollings 
are made thinner and thinner. The process of baking 
separates the films and puffs them up one above another ; 
and the great art of ttie pastrycook is by delicacy and 
rapidity of touch, also by guarding careftilly the coldness 
of the butter and its freedom from moisture, together with 
the freedom of the paste from stickiness, to make sure that 
as far as possible the thin flakes of butter and paste shall 
not interpenetrate. 

4. Puff paste for pies. When once the principle of the 
puff paste is understood the cook can take liberties with it. 
The loregoing receipt will produce the lightest puff paste, 
rising several inches and fit for a Vol-au-vent ; but for 
ordinary pies less care is necessary and less butter — say 
ten or twelve ounces of butter, to the pound of flour. Also, 
though it is always best to use butter, and it is imperative 
to do so if there is any chance of the pie being eaten cold, 
— for a hot pie there is no objection to beef-fat pounded 
with milk or sweet oil in a mortar to the consistency of 
butter. Lastly; as one does not expect the crust upon a 
pigeon-pie or an apple-pie to rise very much, one need 
not be too anxious to multiply the films, and one can spare 
a turn or two. 

5. Puff paste for cheesecakes and tarts. Add about 
three ounces of sifted sugar to the pound of flour. Some- 
times two yolks are added; but with doubtful benefit. 

6. Short paste. It has been already explained that for 
short crust the intermixture of the butter with the flour is 
by kneading, not rolling. For the best short crust take 
equal quantities of butter and flour. But even half of 
butter will make a fair crust. For meat pies the lesser 



Paysanne 335 

quantity is desirable, with a pinch of salt. (See also No. 2.) 
Feather it withjvhite^jegg. before putting it in the oven. 

7. Short paste for tart? and froit-pies. As much butter 
as can be allowed, no salt, and three ounces of sifted 
sugar. 

8. Paste for dumplings and puddings. No. 4 is best, 
but the following is commendable : a pound of flour, six 
ounces of butter, two well-beaten eggs, a little water, and 
a pinch of salt, kneaded together. 

9. Brioche paste. Take a pound of sifled flour, and with 
a fourth of it make a soft leaven by mixing it with a wine- 
glassful of German yeast. Cover this up and set it for 
twenty minutes in a warm place to rise. It ought to rise 
to twice what it was. Take the remainder of the flour and 
in the usual way knead it into a paste with ten ounces 
of butter, six or seven eggs, and a wineglassful of water 
in which a pinch of salt and a teaspoonful] of sugar have 
been melted. Mix the leaven with it lightly. Put it aside 
for some hours, and then knead it, roll it, fold it, break it, 
toss it about, blend it thoroughly together. Roll it up in 
a loose cloth dusted with flour, put it into some covered 
vessel, and keep it in a fair temperature — till next day, if 
possible, when it will be flt to use and can be moulded into 
any shape — Brioche cakes, or Bath buns. Colour the 
paste with safiron diluted in two glasses of rum, and it 
makes a Baba. 

Paysannb. — ^The Peasant's soup ; but really a very 
good soup for peer as well as peasant. It is a clear broth 
with winter vegetables in ii See Brunoise, and also the 
Introductory chapter. 

That French peasant was evidently a woman of great 
taste, and a desirable person to know. There is another 
of her nice dishes which is sometimes called Petits pais a 
la Paysanne. It is one of the nicest vegetable messes that 
can be sent to table^ and is described in the next article 



336 J^ea^ 

under the name of Flemish Peas. The cookery of the 
Peasant, in fact, and that of the Fleming are almost alike. 

Peas. In the English way. — Pat them into boiling 
water with some salt and a bunch of green mint^ and let 
them boil briskly for twenty minutes. Drain them in a 
colander — and see that it is done thoroughly. After thia^ 
all that is necessary is to mix them with fresh butter. The 
most usual English way is simply to put a pat or two of 
butter among them after they are dished. French cooks^ 
however, like to toss them with the butter on the fire for a 
minute before serving. 

Peas in the French way. — 1. The true French way is 
to put a quart of peas with two ounces of butter and 
one of flour into a stewpan, and mix them over the fire till 
the butter is melted. Add to them a faggot of parsley, 
twelve small onions, two lettuces cut in the Julienne way, a 
little salt and sugar, and a pint of broth or gravy. Put 
the lid on and stew the peas for half an hour on a slow 
fire. Then remove the faggot and add an ounce of butter, 
together with chopped parsley, and serve. 

2. The foregoing is the true French style for Frenchmen, 
but there is another style for outsiders, and this is what 
is commonly known in England as Petits pois & la 
Fran9aise. The peas are first of all to be boiled in the 
ordinary English way, but without the bunch of mint. 
They are then to be drained, and (supposing the quantity of 
peas to be a quart) they are again to be put on the fire 
with two ounces of butter, a dessertspoonful of flour, some 
pepper, salt and sugar, together with a small tumblerful of 
the liquor they have boiled in. Simmer them thus for five 
minutes, and at the last finish them with a leason of a gill of 
cream mixed into two yolks of eggs. 

Peas in tlte Flemish way, — Take about a pound of good 
bacon; cut it into small dice; pass it in butter, and moisten 
it with a little broth. Next add to it two or three lettuces — 



Peach 337 

cos-lettuce by preference, — either whole or cut to pieces. 
Fill up with water and boil for half an hour or even 
more; for, though one can eat lettuces raw, they insist 
on being boiled a good deal if they are to be boiled at all. 
At the end of half an hour put in a pint of young peas-— 
or any greater quantity. See that there is water and salt 
enough, and let the boiling go on for another half-hour, so 
that the lettuce may have at least an hour in alL There 
is a delightful dish of peas, which are made to go a long 
way and to suggest no idea of stint, by means of the lettuce 
which eke them out. 

Pea Soup. — The following receipt applies to either fresh 
peas or the dried ones, whether green or yellow. If they 
are dried, however, they must be soaked for twelve hours 
beforehand. Put a quart of peas into a stewpan, with a 
carrot, an onion, a leek, a iaggot of parsley, a pound of 
streaky bacon, and three quarts of water. Boil them for 
two or three hours ; then remove the bacon, the carrot 
and the faggot, pass all else, including the onion, through 
a tammy, and the soup (if sufficiently hot) is ready. When 
this soup is made of fresh peas, the French call it St. 
Germains, and serve it with a few whole peas floating on 
the top, to show what it is. 

Peach is a oorruption of the word Persia — it is the 
amygdalus Persica, or Persica vulgaris. It has more than 
once already, in these pages, been pointed out that an 
almond, a nectarine, and a peach, have a curious identity 
— the same, but yet how difierent I All three fruits may 
be found growing on the same tree, and sometimes on 
the same branch. More than this: the fruit is some- 
times found to be a peach on one side, a nectarine on the 
other. Both peaches and nectarines are divided into two 
chief classes — the Freestones and the Clingstones. The 
former are always the best, and may be easily recognised. 
Take a knife, and in the line of die equator cut round 

22 



S38 Pepper 

them to the stone ; the upper hemisphere maj then be 
lifted off clean, without any difficulty. These* are the 
peaches for dessert. The clingstones are not so good, are 
firmer of flesh, and are best reserved for stewing and for 
fritters. Before using them for fritters, pare them and 
steep them for an hour in Kirschenwasser and sugar. 
Stewing them in syrup is a very simple matter. The 
peaches may then be presented alone in the syrup, with 
the addition of a few of their kernels ; or ihey may be 
served, like apricots, with rice. 

The rose-pink, which is sometimes used for colouring, 
and which has been already mentioned in connection with 
anchovy butter^ is obtained from the peach tree. 

Peppeb is the berry of a climbing Oriental shrub, bright 
red when ripe and black when dried. This is black pepper. 
Within the berry are seeds which, when removed from the 
surrounding pulp and skin and dried separately, are called 
white pepper. This is not so powerful as the whole or 
black pepper, and it is called Mignonette pepper before it 
is ground, as unground black pepper is known by the name 
of peppercorns. 

Much as we value pepper, it is difficult to think of it as 
being at one time in Europe so precious and so scarce that 
it was as good as money. In France, at that time, the 
taxes might be paid in pepper ; so also church dues and 
rent We have all heard of a peppercorn rent Pepper 
was in fact cash ; and to pay in pepper, in spice, or in 
specie — ^all words meaning the same thing — became equi- 
valent to paying in cash. In token of which to this day 
specie is a common name for the hardest of hard cash — 
gold and silver as distinct from paper money. 

Bed pepper comes from a different shrub, the capsicum, 
and was unknown before the discovery of America. 

FSPSIK. — It is no doubt all right and as it should be in 



Perch 339 

   - 

this best of all possible worlds. But when in that sublimated 
future which is to come, which will make human nature 
perfect and all the methods of food divine^ the refined New 
Zealander who is to write our history dilates upon the 
manner of our eating, what astonishment will he not raise 
when he comes to speak of pepsin! We have our own 
pleasant thoughts upon the emetics which preceded a 
Roman meal, and think with wonder of the great cap- 
tain, Julius Caesar, preparing himself for a fresh repast 
by disgorging the undigested remains of the previous 
one. But what shall be said of ourselves ? ^^ In those 
days it was usual, even for people of refinement, when 
they could not themselves digest the dinner they had 
swallowed, to take the pig for a deputy, to avail them- 
selves of his stomach, and to rejoice in ijie potency of hi» 
gastric juices. They bathed their masticated food in 
these juices taken at their supreme moment — ^a point of 
time determined as follows. A young pig in the perfection 
of rude health was ready. He was starved in order that 
his gastric juices might be eager for work ; with the edge 
of hunger upon him, the most appetizing food was placed 
before him in order that the juices might flow abundantly 
from the coats of his stomach, even as the mouth waters at 
the sight of food. At this supreme moment the young pig 
was killed, and his gastric juice carefully colleoted. It 
was dried, and it was found that a few grains of it 
swallowed after an aldermanic feast would create the 
digestive facidties of a hog, make a heavy dinner sit light 
upon the soul as an aerial banquet, and renew the appetite 
»s though there were a dire famine in the land. These 
noble Christians of the western world ate their meat like 
men, but mated with swine for its digestion." 

Perch. — He who has once partaken of the zander or 
giant perch of the German waters — and it is worth going 
all the way to Dresden to do so — will always think well of 



340 Pirigtieux Sauce 

this noble family. The zander, abundant in the Elbe, is 
the most delicious of the perches ; but they are all delicious 
and refined. " That perch," says Dr. Badham, " require 
clear fresh water for their very existence, accounts perhaps 
for the wholesomeness of their flesh, always superior from 
this circumstance to that of eel, carp, or tench, which, from 
feeding everywhere, often taste of the weeds and feculence 
where they dwell. The ancients have not left us any hints 
as to how perch were cooked. The present practice over 
the Continent is to stew them in vinegar, fresh grape, 
osange-juice, or other sour sauce; but though this is certainly 
the common way in some parts of Italy, at the Lago 
Maggiore they are spitted in their scales, and basted 
while roasting with the same acid juice ; in Holland 
butter is added. Though a scaly fish, they vitiate Aris- 
totle's dictum, and are best in roe." To this add that they 
make an admiraWe waterzootje, and that when they are 
large (Yarrell says that one taken from the Serpentine in 
Hyde Park weighed nine pounds) they may be fried in 
fillets to the great glory of the finny tribe. 

Ever since Galen, the perch has been described as 
peculiarly the fresh-water fish for invalids, — it is so deli- 
cate. 

P^RIGUEUX Saucb — named from Pdrigord, where the 
truffles abound. It is the best brow^n sauce, with a glass 
of sherry or Marsala added to it, and a quantity of chopped 
truffles. 

Pheasant if cooked fresh is not so good as a good 
poularde : it requires to be kept till ihefurnet is fully de- 
veloped, and then it is beyond any fowl. So clear is this 
in the French way of thinking, that with them the verb 
meaning to give the high flavour of g^me is faiaander ; 
and the rule of the French kitchen is that a pheasant is 
not fit to be eaten till, having been hung up by the tail, it 
drops down. For most tastes this may be too much ; but a 



Pickles 341 

certain degree of highness in the flavoistr is essential to the 
enjoyment of the bird. 

Roast Pheasant. — The same as a roast partridge — barded 
with bacon. Brillat-Savarin reconmiended the larding of 
the breast ; but he has been furiously assailed for it. 

Boiled Pheasant. — Some people stare with astonish- 
ment when they hear of a pheasant being boiled. This is 
all very well till they try it. Serve it with Soubise sauce, 
plain onion sauce, celery sauce, or oyster sauce. 

Brazed Pheasant. — This is Francatelli's receipt, and he 
called it Pheasant k la Gudewife. Truss a pheasant as for 
boiling, and put it in a stewpan with half a pound of ham 
cut in square pieces. Fry them together over a moderate 
fire, and when the pheasant is browned all over, add four 
sliced Spanish onions, some pepper and salt, and a spoonful 
of Chutnee. Put the lid on, and set the whole to simmer 
gently for about three-quarters of an hour, by which time 
the pheasant will be done and the onions reduced to a 
pulp. Place the pheasant on its dish. Stir the onions on 
the fire, to give the sauce some consistency by further 
reduction, if needed, and then pour it over the pheasant 
and serve. 

Pickles. — We should be sorry for those who have to eat 
pickles. The craving for this condiment usually impUes a 
sickly digestion and a jaded appetite. It also implies bad 
cookery — being the substitute for a sauce which the cook 
ought to provide. But since pickles we must have, it is 
desirable that they should be good ; and it is a sad thing 
to chronicle that the craft of making good pickles is 
departing from England. This country used to make 
the most wonderful mixed pickles ; and the name for 
them, together with the square green English bottle for 
them, has gone abroad over the earth. In the deserts of 
Arabia, and in the Mountains of the Moon, the forlorn 
traveller has lighted on empty bottles of Day and Martin' 

s 



342 Pie 

blacking and of Crosse and BlackwelKs pickles, and his 
heart has rejoiced at eve, as Mango Park did over a solitary- 
flower in the burning wastes of Africa. Bat now No More, 
and alas I No More. As Mr. Tennyson says — 

Oh sad JVo Mort ! oh sweet No More ! 

Oh strange No More ! 
Surely all pleasant things had gone before, 
Low buried fathom-deep beneath with thee, Ko More, 

The best mixed pickles, even those of the great magicians 
of Soho, Crosse and Blackwell, are now made with a woe- 
begone compound called Piccallilli. The good old sort is 
neglected ; and the best English pickles of that kind come 
at present from Bordeaux (from Louis Frferes et Cie.), in 
bottles of English shape, and with the English name of 
Mix'd Pickles. Why is this ? One cause may be excess 
of competition — leading to lowering of price, cheapening 
of vinegar, and general deterioration. But another, and 
even more powerful cause, is to be found in a transition of 
English taste. East India pickles — strange, irrecognisable 
compounds confused with curry, an amazing jumble of 
hot, sweet, sour, and bitter things — have come into fashion. 
Manufacturers— even those who, like Crosse and Blackwell, 
take the highest rank — truckling to this fashion, turn their 
chief skill to put an Oriental tinge on their mixed pickles ; 
and when they affect to produce these in all their original 
simplicity, they do so almost as if the old English receipt 
were no longer worthy of respect The favour which has 
been recently shown to the Bordeaux pickles of Louis 
Fr^res et Compagnie ought to teach them a lesson. 

Pie. — ^We have dealt with a considerable number of 
words belonging to the French table, the origin of which 
is frankly stated by the French authorities to be unknown. 
We have now to do with a word peculiar to the English 
table, which, although the subject of many conjectures, has 
never yet been satisfactorily explained. The most authori- 



P^^ 343 

tative explanation is very curious. It was suggested by 
the lexicographer Junius, more than two centuries ago; 
^ncl it holds its ground among the very valuable etymologies 
in Webster's dictionary for which Dr. Mahn is responsible. 
Jhniii!^ ]»ut it forth only as a conjecture that jpi« or pye is 
a conniption o{ pastis or pasty e; but Mahn states it as a 
YxT'L Now, the fact is that pasty or past^, as used in 
mediaeval English and French, is a later word than pie ; 
and therefore pie could not well be contracted from it, even 
if it were a likely form of contraction. It is odd that this 
explanation should still hold its ground, seeing that a very 
little inquiry into the history of food would have suggested 
two other etymologies, either of which might singly account 
for the word pie, though I believe that both have contri- 
buted to it. In Le Grand d'Aussy's work on the history 
of private life in France, it is stated that the word pain 
signified a pie before the word pftt^ came into ose. There 
is a very probable etymology at once. If any Englishman 
. should have the audacity to call out in a French restaurant, 
with a thoroughly English pronunciation, " Pie 1 '* — as one 
of Thackeray's snobs was heard to call out " Oh 1" — then 
the waiter would as surely bring him bread as the snob 
got water. There may be English people who cannot 
dissociate in their minds the pie from the pie-dish, and 
may therefore find it difficult to understand how a pie 
should have ever been considered as a pain — a loaf. They 
must get rid of that idea, and think of the pie as originally 
made — ^what we now call a raised pie — all surrounded with 
crust, like a pain or loaf. But the two words pain and 
pie in this sense fared very differently in France and in 
England. The former was ambiguous — ^meaning to the 
French ear a loaf as well as meat baked in a crust. When, 
therefore, the word past^ or p&t^ found its way into France 
from Italy, it very quickly supplanted the word pain in the 
latter sense, whic^ completely disappeared. But the parallel 
word pie in England had no such ambiguity to contend 



344 Pig 

with ; it had one plain meaning, a)} its own ; and it held 
its own even after the word pasty came into fashion bj the 
side of it. This was dne not merely to its own force, bnt 
to the fact that there was another word /n^ which came to 
help it ont. From the beginning until now it has always 
been most common for the pie to encase a bird or birds of 
some sort Now in France one of the most freqnent names 
for a bird to be eaten was pied — a fooi Cotgrave, whose 
dictionary is of the highest authority, notes a proverbial 
phrase, — " h, Tavocat le pied en main," — and explains it as- 
applying to " partridges, pheasants, capons, etc., wherewith 
they (that is, the advocates) look to be now and then pre- 
sented/* To this day it is common enough in France to 
speak of the smaller birds intended for the table as le9 
petits pieds. Bat the English form and spelling of pied was 
pie — you have it in cap-i-pie. There appears, therefore,, 
to have been a blending of names — two pies — the one from 
pairiy denoting more immediately the crust, the other from 
pied, denoting more immediately the contents of the pie, and 
both combining to establish the name in opposition to the 
newly introduced one of pasty. To this day on the top of 
a pigeon pie there is, in allusion to the name, a show made 
of the feet; and in some parts of England an apple pie is 
called an apple foot. If the reader asks. In what parts of 
England ? I cannot answer ; but I can give my authority, 
— namely, Todd in his edition of Johnson's dictionary. 

As for the making of pies, the receipts for the various 
crusts will be found under the name of Paste; and those 
for the contents — as Apple, Eel, Pigeon — under the head 
of each. 

Pig is a name reserved for sucking-pig. The gluttonous 
creature of the sty is concealed under the name of pork. 
It is difficult to wax eloquent on pork ; but listen to 
Charles Lamb on the sucking-pig : — 

" Of all the delicacies in the whole mundus edibilisy^ he 



Pk 345 

sajs, '* I will maintain it to be the most delicate — princeps 
obsoniorum, 

" I speak not of your grown porkers — ^things between 
pig and pork — those hobbydehoys ; but a young and tender 
suckling, under a moon old, guiltless as yet of the sty, with 
no original speck of the amor immunditicB, the hereditary 
failing of the first parent, yet manifest — his voice as yet 
not broken, but something between a childish treble and a 
grumble — the mild forerunner or prceludium of a grunt. 

^' He must be roasted. I am not ignorant that our an- 
cestors ate them seethed, or boiled — but what a sacrifice of 
the exterior tegument I 

" There is no flavour comparable, I will contend, to that 
of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted, ' crack- 
ling,' as it is well called ; the very teeth are invited to their 
share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the 
C(^, brittle resistance, with the adhesive oleaginous — call 
it not fat I but an indefinable sweetness growing up to it — 
the tender blossoming of fat — fat cropped in the bud, taken 
in the shoot, in the first innocence — the cream and quin- 
tessence of the child-pig's yet pure food : the lean, no 
lean, but a kind of animal manna, or rather, fat and lean 
(if it must be so) so blended and running into each other, 
that both together make but one ambrosian result or 
common substance. 

" Behold him, while he is ^ doing' : it seemeth rather a 
refreshing warmth than a scorching heat that he is so 
passive to. How equably he twirleth round the string ! 
Now he is just done. To see the extreme sensibility of 
that tender age I — ^he hath wept out his pretty eyes — 
radiant jellies, shooting stars ! 

" See him in the dish, his second cradle : how meek he 
lieth! Wouldst thou have had this innocent grow up to 
the grossness and indocility which too often accompany 
maturer swinehood? Ten to one he would have proved 
a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal, 



346 Pig 

— — ' % 

wallowing in all manner of filthy conversation. From 
these sins he is happily snatched away : 

Ere sin oould blight or sorrow fade, 
Death came with timely care. 

His memory is odoriferous ; no clown cnrseth, while his 
ii;omach half rejecteth, the rank bacon ; no coalheaver 
bolteth him in reeking sansages ; he hath a fair sepnlchre 
in the grateful stomach of the jndidons epicare — and for 
such a tomb might be content to die. 

'^ Unlike to mankind's mixed characters — a bundle of 
virtues and vices, inexplicably intertwisted, and not to be 
unravelled without hazard — he is good throughout No 
part of him is better or worse than another. He helpeth, 
as far as his little means extend, all around. He is the 
least envious of banquets ; he is all neighbours' fare. 

" I am one of those who freely and ungrudgingly im- 
part a share of the good things of this life which fall to 

their lot (few as mine are in ^is kind) to a friend 

But a stop must be put somewhere. One would not, 
like Lear, ' give everything.' I make my stand upon pig. 
Methinks it is an ingratitude to the Giver of all good 
flavours to extra-domiciliate, or send out of the house 
slightingly (under pretext of friendship, or I know not 
what), a blessing so particularly adapted — predestined, I 
may say, to my individual palate. It argues an insensi- 
bility. 

" Our ancestors were nice in their method of sacrificing 
these tender victims. We read of pigs whipt to death with 
something of a shock, as we hear of any other obsolete 
custom. The age of discipline is gone by, or it would be 
curious to inquire (in a philosophical light merely) what 
effect this process might have towards intenerating and 
dulcifying a substance naturally so mild and dulcet as the 
flesh of young pigs. It looks like refining a violet. Yet 
we should be cautious, while we condemn the inhumanity. 



Pigeon 347 

how we censure the wisdom of the practice. It might 
impart a gusto. 

" I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young 
students, when I was at Si Omer's, and maintained with 
much learning and pleasantry on both sides, ' Whether, 
supposing that the flavour of a pig who obtained his death 
by whipping {per jlagellatumem extremam) superadded a 
pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any 
possible suffering we can conceive in the animal, is man 
justified in using that method of putting the animal to 
death ? ' I forget the decision. 

"His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few 
breadcrumbs, done up with his liver and brains, and a dash 
of mild sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech 
you, the whole onion tribe. Barbecue your whole hogs to 
your palate, steep them in shalots, stuff them out with 
]>Iantations of the rank and guilty garlic — ^you cannot 
poison them, or make them stronger than they are : but 
consider, he is a weakling — a flower." 

All honour to Charles Tjamb I — but still the innocent is 
to be stuffed with the ordinary sage-and-onion forcemeat 
(No. 7), and is then to be sewed up and roasted before a 
brisk fire ; the basting to be frequent, with a brush dipped 
in salad oil. He is to be served with a good brown gravy 
and with apple sauce. He had better be served whole ; but 
those who are not confident of their carving require that 
(as Grimod de la Beyni&re said) he should first be made a 
gentleman — that is, be guillotined — and that he should be 
halved down the back. In this case, let the halves be 
placed on the dish, the outer or roasted sides uppermost ; 
and let the head also be halved — ^the one cheek to repose at 
the one end, and the other at the other end of the dish. 

Pigeon is a very great bird in France, and is cooked in 
many ways. The most elaborate of the French soups — 
Biaque — was originally a pigeon soup. In England the 



34 8 Pigeon 

bird is little noticed save in the form of pigeon-pie — but 
that is the most favoured of all the pies. 

Roast Pigeons. — Barded with bacon ; under the bacon a 
vineleaf, when it is to be had. Roast them for twenty 
minutes ; when nearly ready, take off the barding to dust 
them with flour and to froth them ; but it will be no 
disadvantage if the bacon is replaced in serving them. 
Orange gravy will be found a /rood sauce to go with them- 

Stewed Pigeons (Pigeons en comp6te). — Stuff them wifh 
a seasoning of mixed spices, salt, chopped parsley, butter^ 
and breadcrumbs. Half-roast them or fry them, and 
then proceed to stew them gently in good broth with a 
glass of wine in it. Add also an onion stuck with two 
cloves, a faggot of sweet-herbs, and — some cooks say — a 
white cabbage or a lettuce cut in quarters. Take out the 
pigeons and dish them ; remove also the vegetable ingre- 
dients ; thicken the sauce with roux, and pour it over the 
birds. Grarnish them with the lettuce or cabbage, if that 
has been selected in the preparation, but if not used, there 
are other garnishes — such as peas, asparagus points, arti- 
choke bottoms, mushrooms, sweetbreads, cockscombs. 

Chartreuse of Pigeons is done in the same way as the 
Chartreuse of partridges — and that is in principle the 
same as the Perdrix aux choux or partridge with cabbage. 
The only difference is, that in the Chartreuse the partridges 
are concealed in the cabbage to satisfy the consciences of 
the fasting friars. 

Broiled Pigeons — or Pigeons en crapaudine — trussed and 
flattened like a toad. The pigeons are split at the back 
and spread out, after the manner of the spatchcock. They 
are placed in a stewpan with a morsel of butter, a faggot 
of sweet-herbs, and some sliced onions. When half-cooked 
they are taken out (the faggot and onion slices also), and 
two yolks of eggs are mixed into the butter in which they 



Pike 349 

have cooked. The pigeons are to be well smeared with 
this mixture, and afterwards covered with breadcrumbs 
which have been intermixed with some chopped shalot and 
parsley. They can then go to the grill, and may be served 
with a little clear gravy into which has been squeezed 
some lemon-juice. The pigeons, it will be observed, are 
split and half-cooked before being breadcrumbed and 
grilled ; for otherwise the breadcrumbs would be burned 
before the pigeons could be grilled enough. 

Pigeon Pie, — Cover the bottom of the dish with veal 
cutlets or small and tender coUops of beef, quite free from 
fat and bone, and season them with salt, pepper, and 
nutmeg. Over these lay the birds, cut in halves^ and 
each half stuffed with some maitre d'hdtel butter mixed 
with the livers parboiled and minced. Put half a 
dozen hard-boiled yolk^ of eggs in among them, and 
if the bottom of the dish has been lined M-ith veal, a 
few thin slices of ham may be placed above the birds. 
Add some bits of butter and a good moistening of veal 
broth. Then cover over with paste in the usual way, 
and bake it for an hour. It is usual to stick three or four 
pigeons' feet in the centre of the roof. This is a custom 
of great antiquity, to which many good people object, 
because they can see no use in it. These feet, however, 
date from the origin of the pie, and contain an allusion to 
its name. See Fie. 

Pike. — The pike, jack or luce is a dry fish, which is not 
to be enjoyed unless prepared in grand style, with many 
rites and gorgeous ceremonies. The following wise re- 
ceipt is given by Izaak Walton in his Complete Angler: 
— " First open your pike at the gills, and, if need be, cut 
also a little slit towards the belly. Out of these take his 
guts, and keep his liver, which you are to shred very small 
with thyme, sweet-marjoram, and a little winter-savory ; 



3 so Pike 

to these pat some pickled oysters, and some anchovies, 
two or three — both these last whole, for the anchovies will 
melt, and the oysters should not ; to these you must add 
also a pound of sweet butter, which you are to mix with 
the herbs that are shred, and let them all be well salted. 
If the pike be more than a yard long, then you may put 
into these herbs more than a pound, or if he be less, then 
less butter will suffice : these, being thus mixed, with a 
blade or two of mace, must be put into the pike's belly : 
and then his belly so sewed up as to keep all the butter in 
his belly if it be possible ; if not, then as much as you 
possibly can. But take not off the scales. Then you are 
to thrust the spit through his mouth, out at his tail. And 
then take four, or five, or six split sticks, or very thin 
laths, and a convenient quantity of tape or filleting ; 
these laths are to be tied round about the pike's body 
from his head to his tail, and the tape tied somewhat 
thick, to prevent his breaking or falling off from the 
spit. Let him be roasted very leisurely, and often basted 
with claret wine, and anchovies and butter mixed together, 
and also with what moisture falls from him into the pan. 
When you have roasted him sufficiently, you are to hold 
under him, when you unwind or cut the tape that ties 
him, such a dish as you propose to eat him out of, and let 
him fall into it with the sauce that is roasted in his belly, 
and by this means the pike will be kept unbroken and 
complete. Then, to the sauce which was within, and 
also that sauce in the pan, you are to add a fit quantity of 
the best butter, and to squeeze the juice of three or four 
oranges. Lastly, yon may either put it into the pike, with 
the oysters, two cloves of garlic, and take it whole out 
when the pike is cut off the spit ; or, to give the sauce 
a hogoo \hivi go(U], let the dish into which you let the 
pike fall be rubbed with it ; the using or not using of this 
garlic is left to your discretion. This dish of meat is too 
good for any but anglers or very honest men ; and I 



Pilchard 351 



trust you will prove both^ and therefore I have trusted 
you with this secret." 

One part of this receipt cannot now be permitted — ^the 
spit We do not apply steel to fresh fish. The pike must 
be baked, and ibis too without neglecting the basting, 
which is an important point 

There are of course other ways of doing the pike. He 
may be cut in slices and fried, in which case he is to be 
eaten with Dutch sauce ; or he may be cut in fillets, and 
served in most of the ways in which one serves salmon, 
turbot, and soles. He has even been served in water- 
zootje ; but this does him too much honour. He is not 
delicate enough. It is much better to go to the other 
extreme, and dress him in the Chambord style. 



Ankham eel and Witham pike 
In all England is none like. 

PiLCHABD, called also the gipsy herring, is a fine fat fish 
most abundant on the Devonshire and Cornwall coasts ; 
but it is to be found all over the Channel, and on the 
French coast it goes by the name of sardine. They are 
large for sardines, but they are treated as such in Devon- 
shire and Cornwall, and are now sold in tins under the 
name of Cornish sardines. The result is worthy of praise, 
and ought to be the beginning of a successful industry. 
It is the first attempt in England to preserve fish in oil. 
It would be too much to say that they are equal to the best 
French sardines — that was not to be expected in a first 
experiment; but still they are good, well-flavoured sardines; 
and when the Cornish men — ^Tre, Pol and Pen — have 
thoroughly mastered the art of preserving fish in oil, their 
fat little pilchards should be known as the finest sardines in 
the world, and the perfection of preserved herrings. 

We know little of the pilchard in London, or anywhere 
far from the Land's End. The fact is, that being the most 
sublime of herrings, wiih a richness which raises him 



352 Pimento 

almost to the nobleness of a aalmon-tront, the pQcfaaid, 
with all his fatness, begins to spoil mndi too soon after he 
has bidden adieu to his natire element ; and he is bj no 
means sublime— be is eren rancid — ^when he reaches the 
glorious Walhalla of fish in Billingsgate. Whenever a 
pilchard is found fresh, he is to be cooked as a herring of 
high degree. His season is between Julj and Christmas. 
It is singular, considering the goodness of the pilchard, 
that he is of no repute when cured^ and is not to be named 
beside the bloater of Yarmouth, the salt herring of the 
Dutch, or the red herring of Scotland. Probably the 
larger pilchards, with their salmon-trout flavour, might 
make a name for themselves in the form of kipper ; and 
there is now every prospect that the smaller pilchards will 
spread their renown in the guise of Cornish sardines. 

PiMEKTO. — Jamaica pepper, the dried berry of a West 
Indian tree — the Eugenia pimento. It also bears the 
honorary name of Allspice, as combining within itself the 
flavours of clove, cinnamon and nutmeg. 

Pimpernel deserves a word in order to guard against a 
mistake which may be serious. The flower known by this 
name in England is a rank poison. It is that named in 
Tennyson's famous song : — 

The slender acacia would not shake 

One long milk-bloom on the tree ; 
The white lake bloBSom fell into the lake 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea : 

that is, with closed flowers. Now Englishmen returning 
from France, and loud in their praises of a French salad, 
tell us that in order to make this salad in perfection it 
ought to be garnished with four herbs minced : tarragon, 
chervil, chives, and pimpernel. Mark well, and let ilie 
gardener and the cook take heed that this pimpernel is not 
pimpernel in England, but bumet 

Pintail, to be treated as widgeon or wild duck. 



Plums 353 

PiQUANTE. — See Sharp. 

Plaice, called on the Sussex coast diamond plaice, from 
the little orange lozenges on their backs, and for the same 
reason called in France carrelet, are the poorest and the 
cheapest of all the flat fish. The worst cookery cannot do 
them wrong, and the best cannot do them good. The 
only way to eat them is in fillets prepared in any of the 
ways prescribed for fillets of sole. The best plaice that 
come to the London market are caught between Hastings 
and Folkestone, and are named from their habitation 
Dowers plaice. 

Plovbbs. — The best are the golden plovers. They used 
to be, and often still are, roasted without being drawn— as 
were also turtledoves and larks; '^for,'* says an ancient 
author, " larks eat only pebbles and sand, doves grains o 
juniper and scented herbs, and plovers feed on air." Later 
the same rule was extended to the woodcock; and the 
general rule now is to dress the plover as a woodcock. 

Plovers* Eggs must not be forgotten — delicious little 
things hard-boiled, exquisite in a salad, perfect in a 
sandwich, most admirable of all set like large opals in the 
midst of aspic jelly. The chief supply comes from Holland 
The first eggs that come over are sent to the Queen, and 
are worth 7s. 6d. apiece. 

PluMs have a wide range of meaning. I innaeus in- 
cluded under the name, not only plums proper, but cherries 
and apricots ; and when we speak of a plum-pudding we 
extend the designation to raisins. The plums best known 
have each a special name: as Orleans, Greengage, Magnum 
Bonum, Damson, Mirabelle, and so forth. It is a pity to 
cook them when they are sweet and ripe, unless with a 
view to preserve them ; but there will always be young 
people in the world, and old people with youthful tastes, to 
whom stewed plums and plunji tarts will never come amiss 

23 



354 Plum Pudding 



Plum Sauce. — Stone about a pint of Orleans pinms, and 
stir them to a' mash over a brisk fire, with a quarter-pint 
of water and a quarter-pound of sugar. Then pass them 
through a sieve, and use them as a sauce for pudding. 
Other plums may be used in the same way — not to speak 
of peaches, nectarines and apricots. 

Plum Pudding. — A pound and a half of combined flour 
and breadcrumbs ; a pound and a half of chopped suet ; 
a pound and a half of combined raisins (stoned) and cur- 
rants ; three-quarters of a pound of sugar ; three-quarters 
of a pint of combined milk and eggs (say six eggs and the 
rest milk) ; three wineglassfuls of brandy ; a quarter of a 
pound of chopped apples; a quarter of a pound of candied 
peel ; half a teaspoonful of salt; half a nutmeg ; half an ounce 
of mixed spice. Mix all thoroughly, tie it up in a floured 
cloth, put it into boiling water, and let it boil from five to 
six hours. These proportions will make two good-«ized 
puddings, each of which will require to be boilfed for the 
time given. Punch sauce. 

Pol^LE is a word much used in the French kitchen. It 
means a frying-pan ; but originally it meant any small 
saucepan, and afterwards it was made to signify tiie con- 
tents of the saucepan, or at least the array of vegetables 
and condiments which were put into it for seasoning. In 
this sense, or indeed in any sense, the term has dropped out 
of the English language, but we find it five hundred years 
ago. In the Forme of Cury there is a receipt for " Hares 
in Papdele," which has greatly puzzled antiquarians. It 
is a corruption of " Hares in Padell." The Latin word 
for a saucepan .was patella^ which became padell in Old 
English, and paSle, afterwards pofele, in French. The 
assortment of vegetables which the French now under- 
stand by a po61e will be found among the Faggots — a 
Faggot of Pot-herbs. 



Pork 355 

PoiVRADK Sauce is a peppery sauce. Put into a stew- 
pan two or three sliced onions^ two or three shalots^ a clove 
of garlic, a carrot, a parsnip, a faggot of sweet-herbs, two 
cloves, some cayenne or long pepper, salt, a gill of vinegar, 
a pint of broth — and possibly a glass of red wine. Simmer 
it for an hour ; add to it some roux made with one ounce 
of butter and one of flour ; simmer for another half-hour, 
then strain it, skim it, and serve. 

Polish Sauce is a highly decorated horseradish sauce* 
The more simple sauce is eaten with roast beef. This is 
supposed to belong to roast veal. Put the scrapings of a 
horseradish into some sauce Allemande, or into a Poulette 
sauce, with plenty of lemon-juice, a little grated lemon- 
zest, chopped parsley, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and some sifted 
sugar. 

Pork is so little to be seen at good tables, save in the 
form of ham and bacon, that it would seem to be a work 
of supererogation to refer to it. It is however eaten — 
indeed, largely consumed — on the sly, and must have a word 
or two. 

Roast Pork is scored to make the crackling, and is in 
the first instance put before the fire at a long distance, 
that it may be well heated through before the skin hardens. 
The reason of this is that pork takes more of the fire than 
any other meat, and there is danger of the outside being 
burnt before the interior is cooked. Sauces: sage-and- 
onion sauce, together with apple sauce ; or else sauce 
Bobert by itself alone. 

Pork Chops and Cutlets, — To be done precisely as those of 
mutton, only they must be done thoroughly. Thurtell ate 
pork chops before he committed the murder of Mr. William 
Weare. 

PoTAGE A LA Reine. — See Chicken. 



356 Potato 

Potato. — The place of the potato in the English dinner 
has been discussed when treating of bread, aad the place it 
Solds on the French dinner-table. On account of the 
badness of English bread, the potato has largely displaced 
it at English tables ; and it is now to be added that^ on 
account of the badness of other vegetables in English 
cooking, the potato has gained a further importance far 
beyond its merits. (See Bread ; also Vegetables.) Yet, with 
all this exaggerated importance, English cooks cannot 
make the potato important enough to be eaten by itself. 
Go into a first-rate restaurant in Paris — say the Caf6 
Anglais — and at the end of dinner ask, by way of entre- 
met, fcr a simple dish of potatoes tossed in butter : it will 
turn out a beautiful little dish, and it will be charged in the 
bill two or two-and-a-half francs. A couple of shillings 
for three potatoes ! Who will pay that price in England, 
where the potato is vaunted so much ? The French pay the 
price freely — which shows that they set a higher value on a 
good potato than we do, though they do not eat so many of 
them, nor suffer them to take the place of bread and to 
dominate over other vegetables. 

Boiled Potatoes, — The Irish way — that is, cooked and 
served in their jackets — or, as the French say, en robe de 
chamhre. The potatoes are to be all of a size, and to be 
well washed and brushed, but they are in no way to be 
touched with a knife, even to clear what are called the 
eyes. Pour cold water over them, just enough to cover them, 
and when it boils, add plenty of salt — a large teaspoon- 
ful for a quart of water. Simmer them gently with a tight 
lid : the length of time will depend on the size and kind 
of the potatoes, — it may be from twenty to forty-five 
minutes ; but the lafct two or three minutes they should be 
made to boil rapidly. Prick them with a fork, to see if 
they are done enough. Then lift off^ the lid and put the 
pot aside, to let all the moisture escape in steam. The Irish 



Potato 357 

will have them sent to table as they are — ^in their skins. 
Ordinary mortals have them peeled before being served. 

The English way. Choose them all of a size, peel them, 
and remove the eyes and other specks ; cover them with 
cold water (but there fe to be no salt at this stage), and 
simmer them very gently — the slower the better. They 
have to be watched very carefully towards the last, to see 
that they do not boil a minute more than is necessary, 
— and this can only be ascertained by probing with a fork. 
Pour off all the water, strew salt on the potatoes, and 
leave the pot uncovered by the fire, shaking it from time to 
time till the potatoes seem all dry and floury. 

Potatoes Browned — with roast meat. — Peel them, parboil 
them, drain them, flour them, and put them in an earthen 
dish into the dripping pan under the meat. Baste them 
freely from time to time, and when they are browned on 
one side turn them. 

Fried Potatoes. — Kidney potatoes are best for this pur 
pose, and a kettleful of beef fat. But in English kitchens 
the fried potatoes are very uncertain, because they are cut 
in too thin slices ; also because they are done in a flat 
frying-pan, with a sparing supply of butter or dripping. 
Instead of cutting the potatoes, like the English, into shil- 
lings, French cooks cut them into square plugs, about 
the length and thickness of the little finger. These are put 
into a wire basket and dipped into the kettle of boiling fat, 
where they remain for five minutes, and are shaken from 
time to time — the kettle resting on the stove, with only its 
edge on the stove fire. During these five minutes, how- 
ever, the fat has been coolitig, partly through the coldness 
of the potatoes immersed in it, partly through the kettle 
being removed from the central heat of the stove fire to its 
edge. Therefore, at the end of five minutes, take out the 
wire basket, and put the frying-kettle over the stove fire, 
to heat up. Take it ofi* again so as to rest as before on 



358 Potato 

the stove, with only its edge over the fire ; put back the 
wire basket into it, and in two minutes more the fiying 
will be complete, and the potatoes beautifully crisp, of a 
rich golden colour. The whole time for frying should 
be as neariy as possible seven minutes — ^not counting, of 
course, the time required for re-heating the fat The 
lalting is not to take place till the last. Shake some salt 
over them in the wire basket^ give a shake of the basket, 
and then another shake of salt. Let all the fat drain away, 
and then serve. 

Potatoes SouffUea. — These are done precisely as the fried 
potatoes, and the inflation depends wholly on the manner 
of cutting them. Cut in square plugs, the potatoes will 
not inflate ; cut in slices the eighth of an inch thick, they 
will. It is best to cut them lengthwise, in slices of equal 
thickness; and when putting these slices into the fat, care 
must be taken that they do not adhere one to another. 

Potatoes a la Maitre d^ Hotel. — It is a great fault in the 
preparation of these potatoes that English cooks will make 
them pasty by putting flour with them— that is, they 
do them with maitre d'hfitel sauce instead of with maitre 
d'hotel butter. French kidney potatoes are the best to use. 
Boil them in the ordinary way, and cut them in slices 
about the eighth of an inch thick. Put two pounds of 
them into a stewpan, with two spoonfuls of broth and four 
ounces of maitre d'hdtel butter or its ingredients — that 
is, four ounces of fresh butter, with pepper, salt, chopped 
parsley, and lemon-juice. Toss all over the fire until the 
butter is melted and well mixed in with the potatoes. 

Potatoes tossed in butter (saut^es au beurre). — 1. These 
are for the most part boiled potatoes, sliced, seasoned lightly 
with pepper and salt, and tossed in butter to a golden tint. 
The chief difference between them and the potatoes a la 



Potato 359 

maitre d'bdtel is that the latter are not allowed to brown. 
Potatoes cooked in this way are generally of the kidney 
kind ; but if the round mealy ones — Regents, tiiat break 
on tossing, and are all the more saturated with the butter — 
should be used, they will come as a pleasant surprise. 
English cooks stint the butter for this dish; the potatoes 
come dry to table, and nobody cares much about them 
French cooks are liberal with the butter ; and the result is 
so excellent, that in Paris nobody thinks anything of 
paying from \\ to 2^ francs for tiiree potatoes done in 
this fashion. 

2. Sometimes, however, raw potatoes are done in this 
way, after being peeled and cut into slices. This is what 
is set down in many English cookery books as fried 
potatoes. But the quantity of butter used is so niggardly 
that the result is in most cases a &ilure. 

3. The raw potatoes which are most commonly cooked 
in this way are the new ones. The skins are to be rubbed 
off with a coarse cloth; the potatoes are to be cast into 
water and wiped dry. Melt butter in a shallow stewpan; 
put the potatoes into it, giving them room enough ; fry 
them very slowly, turning them from time to time, and 
taking care that there is butter enough to cover them at 
least a third. When the potatoes are golden of tint and 
done enough, remove them from the butter in which they 
have cooked, and put them into another stewpan with 
tw^o or three ounces of fresh butter. Toss them without 
letting this new butter fry. Dish them, pour the butter 
over them, and sprinkle them with salt. 

Lyonnese Potatoes (Pommes-de-terre k la Lyonnaise). — 
These are cooked potatoes combined with cooked onions. 
The combination is made in several ways; but the best and 
simplest is to take onions, to chop or slice them finely, to 
fry them in butter, to add to them more butter, together 
with boiled potatoes in slices, and to proceed as for the 



360 Potato 

potatoes tossed in butter, No. 1, not forgetting the pepper 
and salt. 

Mashed Potatoes (Potato pur^). — Mealy potatoes are 
best. These, when boiled in the nsual way, are generally 
rubbed down by English cooks with the back of a wooden 
spoon. French cooks press them through a wire sieve, 
which ensures a finer grain. The mash is then put into 
a stewpan, with fresh butter, cream or very good milk, 
sometimes a spoonful of broth, pepper, salt, and it may be 
nutmeg ; and it is vigorously stirred over the fire, to make 
it light. 

Potato Croquettes. — Take six potatoes that have passed 
through the sieve; put them into a stewpan with an ounce 
of butter, two yolks of eggs, pepper, nutmeg and salt, and 
stir them well for a few minutes over the fire. They should 
then be put aside between two plates, to get cold. When 
required for use they should be rolled into shapes— corks, 
balls, and the like — dipped in beaten egg, rolled in bread- 
crumbs, and fried in hot fat. 

» 

Potatoes for the IhicJiess, — Prepare the potatoes as for 
croquettes. Shake some flour upon a pasteboard, and upon 
this shape the potato pur^e into little oval cakes; fry them 
first on one side, then on the other, in clarified butter, and 
drain them on a cloth. 

Potato Thimplings (Klosse in German). — Pass a pound 
of cold potatoes through a sieve, mix them with two ounces 
of flour, four yolks and two whites of eggs, pepper, salt, 
nutmeg, and a dash of sugar. Knead all well together, 
shape them like turkeys' eggs, and drop them into boiling 
salt and water. In ten minutes they are ready, and make 
an agreeable garnish. 

Potato Salad. — Kidney potatoes boiled and cut in slices. 
They may be combined with boiled celeriac, onion, beet- 
root — any, or all. They may also be combined with raw 



Poulette Sauce 361 



celery, and with red cabbage which has boiled for fifteen 
minutes in water with an extra allowance of salt, and 
which has been allowed to soak afterwards in a wine- 
glassful of vinegar. 

Potato Soup, — Make a pur^ of three pounds of mealy 
potatoes, and mix it with two quarts of boiling broth, 
adding pepper and salt. Boil it for five minutes, removing 
any scum that may rise, and finish the soup with a piece 
of butter. Some people enjoy a flavour of onion in this 
soupr— in which case mince finely two ounces, fry them 
Ughtly, and let them stew in the soup for ten minutes. 

Pot-au-Feu. — See the chapter on Soup. 

PouLETTB Sauce, in its best form, is no other than 
AUemande or Almayne sauce. Most commonly it is a 
mock Almayne made as follows. Stir on the fire for a 
quarter of an hour three ounces of butter, three of flour, 
and nearly a pint of white broth, which in the case of 
fowls will be the broth in which.they have boiled. Then add 
a leason of two or three yolks of eggs, and finish with 
lemon-juice. Mushrooms, shalots and parsley are added to 
form what is called the Poulette Ragout or Relish. 

It has already been explained that the Almayne, or 
AUemande, is an attempt to improve upon the Dutch 
sauce ; and since Poulette is now described as a mock 
Almayne, it may hkewise be described as a parody of the 
Dutch. It is a Dutch sauce with a little less of eggs and 
a good deal less of butter 5 but with flour in it (which the 
Dutchman never uses), and with white broth instead of 
water. 

Poulette means a hen chicken, and the Poulette sauce 
is but the enrichment with eggs of the white parsley-and- 
butter sauce so well known in England as the clothing of 
boiled chicken. It is sometimes in English books named 
lemon sauce, because finished with lemon-juice. 



362 Prawn 

Prawn. — There is nothing that need be said about 
cooking prawns, or in praise of them. One word, how- 
ever, about the origin of the name, which seems to be 
unknown. May I point out that one of the chief distinc- 
tions of the prawn is a most formidable serrated prong, 
jutting out between its eyes ? 

Ps and Qs. — ^A phrase most appropriate to taverns. In 
the olden time, when the keeper of an alehouse chalked 
on the wall or on the door the scores of what his customers 
had druiik, it was usual to put down P for pint and Q for 
quart. The customer who kept an eye on his score would 
admonish Boniface to "mind his Ps and Qs." 

Ptaemigan is a kind of grouse, and to be entertained 
with the ceremonies to which grouse are entitled. 

Pumpkins. — Lady Llanover says : " Pew vegetables are 
so little understood and consequently so much undervalued 
in Great Britain as pumpkins. Perhaps Gower in South 
Wales is the only part of the United Kingdom where 
pumpkins are grown as an article of diet by the rural popu- 
lation ; and there they are to be seen, as on the Continent, 
hanging from the ceilings for winter store, and any little 
spare comer in the field or garden is made use of to place 
the small mound on which to sow a few pumpkin seeds. 
The varieties of this plant are so numerous that it would 
be beyond the limit of any cookery book to attempt an 
enumeration of comparative merits, from the vegetable 
marrow to the Turk's turban and the yellow pumpkin, 
which grows to such a size as to fill a wheelbarrow ; but it 
will not be out of place to note shortly a few of the modes 
in which pumpkins are available. For white soup they can 
be used alone, with merely the addition of onion, celery 
and sweet-herbs for flavouring. They are excellent when 
boiled, sprinkled with salt and sweet-herbs ; or fried in egg 
and crumbs like soles. Also plain^ boiled in slices and 



Punch 363 

served with brown gravy. In Gower they are added to 
hashed meat, made into pies with apples, and put into sonp. 
Pumpkins have one peculiar quaUty in addition to a good 
deal of natural sweetness : they wUl absorb and retain the 
flavour of whatever- they are cooked with. If stewed with 
plums it tastes exactly like them in puddings and tarts ; 
the same with apples, rhubarb or gooseberries ; and for 
savoury cookery it would be difficult to say in what dish it 
may not be used with advantage as an addition.^' 

Punch. — Dn Kitchener was once a considerable authority 
on all questions of eating or drinking; and he spread 
abroad a statement which has helplessly been repeated, 
and starts up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way comers, that 
Punch — both the name and the drink — is of West Indian 
origin, and means Five. He got the idea of West Indian 
origin from the rum and the limes which abound in it ; 
but the name is clearly of East Indian growth, and may 
be recognised in Punjaub — the country of the Five rivers. 
It is named Punch from the five ingredients which compose 
it : 1. spirit ; 2. acid ; 3. spice ; 4. sugar ; 5. water. 

English Punchy — 1. The spirit is mostly of two kinds — 
brandy and rum, mixed in proportions which must be left 
to taste. The rum generally predominates. 2. The acid 
is nearly always lemon-juice. 3. The spice is nearly always 
lemon-peel, but sometimes tealeaf, sometimes nutmeg ; and 
as for 4 and 5, the sugar and the water, they explain them- 
selves. 

Glasgow Punch is made of the coldest spring water. 
There are theorists who maintain that punch is always 
made of hot water, grog of cold water ; and that Glasgow 
punch, therefore, is not punch but grog. Punch is a word 
which simply means five— it is a composition of five ele- 
ments ; and our receipt for the liquor loved by the West 
India merchants of Glasgow is classical. It comes from 



364 Punch 

the pen of John Gibson Lockhart, and is to be found in 
Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk. " The sugar being melted 
with a little cold water, the artist squeezed about a dozen 
lemons through a wooden strainer, and then poured in 
water enough almost to fill the bowL In this state 
the liquor goes by the name of sherbet, and a few of the 
connoisseurs in his immediate neighbourhood were re- 
quested to give their opimon of it^ — for in the mixing of 
the sherbet lies, according to the Glasgow creed at least, 
one-half of the whole battle. This being approved by an 
audible smack from the lips of the umpires, the rum was 
added to the beverage, I suppose in something about the 
proportion from one to seven. Last of all, the maker cut 
a few limes, and running each section rapidly round the 
rim of his bowl, squeezed in enough of this more delicate 
acid to flavour the whole composition. In this consists 
the true tour-de-maitre of the punch-maker."" 

Oxford Punch could not be separated from the name of 
Oxford — which see. 

Cambridge Punch, in like mannerj will be found under 
the name of Cambridge. 

Milk Punch, — Over the zest of four lemons and a 
Seville orange pour a pint of rum ; cover it up, and let 
it stand for twelve hours. Then strain it, and mix with it 
another pint of rum, a pint of brandy, a pint of sherry, 
half a pint of lemon-juice, a pineapple peeled, sliced and 
pounded, a pint of green tea, a grated nutmeg, a pound of 
dissolved sugar, the whites of two eggs frothed, two pints 
of boiling water and two of boiling milk. Mix it well, 
let it stand for a little time, strain it through a beaver 
jelly-bag, and bottle it. To be served after turtle soup. 

Roman Punch. — ^A bottle of Chablis, the same quantity 
of syrup at 35°, half the quantity of strained lemon-juice. 
Put it to freeze, and when pretty well frozen work into it 



Purees 365 

two whites of egg whipt with syrup. Put it to freeze 
again, and when required for use add to it a glass of rum 
and a pint of champagne. This used to be served between 
the courses — that is, immediately before the roast. It now 
comes oftener after the roast 

Punch Sauce. — Make lemon sauce with half the quantity 
of water ; thicken it with two ounces of butter and a tea- 
spoonful of flour ; touch it up with a glass of rum, and 
serve it very hot. 

Punctuality. — Of all the qualities of a cook, the most 
indispensable is punctuality. (Brillat-Savarin.) 

PuR^s. — ^A pur^e meant at first peppery — ^its original 
form being poivr^e. The old meaning of tiie word being 
lost, it is now supposed to be something purified by being 
passed through a sieve or a tanmiy. 

Pur^ of dried vegetables, as peas, haricots, lentils. — 
Soak them over night in abundance of warm water. Next 
day put them into the pot with cold water, a carrot, an 
onion, a leek, a faggot of sweet-herbs and some salt, and 
cook them till they are perfectly tender. If it has not 
been possible to steep them beforehand, it will be enough 
to proceed as follows. At the end of half an hour pour 
into the pot a wineglassful of cold water, and repeat this 
every half-hour till the vegetables are done. If they are 
intended for soup, take out the carrot and the herbs, and, 
without being too careful about draining them, pound them 
in a mortar, and pass them through a hair sieve. If they 
are intendid for a garnish or for an entremet, they should be 
well drained in order to be thick enough. After travelling 
through the sieve they will take kindly to a tablespoonful 
of shalot if chopped very finely and passed in a liberal supply 
of butter. Mix shalot, butl^sr, and pur^e well together ; 
and further, according to need, use a moistening of broth, 



366 Quails 

of milk, or of the liquor in which the vegetables have 
boiled. 

For the Pur4e of fresh vegetcMea — whether thege are 
peas and beans ; roots such as ourots, turnips, potatoes ; 
fruits such as the tomato or the gourd ; leaves like sorrel 
and endive ; or bulbs like the onion — ^the process is practi- 
cally the same : first boiling, then the mortar, then the 
sieve, next the seasoning, and again, perhaps, the tammy, 
if the Pur^e is to be very fine. There are differences, 
however, of seasoning whioh will be found in detail under 
the name of each vegetable. 

One of the leading points of difference between English 
and French cookery turns on the greater carefulness of 
the latter in making a Pnr^. It is not a question of 
skill ; it is wholly one of good faith. The English cook is 
content with slovenly work : hence mashed potatoes full of 
lumps, and spinach full of strings and coarse. The English 
cook shirks the labour of the sieve. If the thing is worth 
doing it is worth doing well ; and it must be repeated that 
the result depends not upon skill, but upon honesty. It 
is the honesty of their work, as much as anything else, 
that gives the French cooks their superiority in dressed 
vegetables. 




[UAILS are a kind of dwarf partridge; and in 
the summer months, when as yet the partridge 
is inviolable, they are a pleasant substitute* 
They come chiefly from Egypt, in con- 
signments of perhaps 50,000 at a time, and they bear 
travel so well that not more than seven per cent, perish on 
the road. The French have many ways of dressing the 
quail for table. The English have only one ; but it is the 



Quenelle 367 

best way of all. Let the quail be barded with bacon ; under 
which tie a vineleaf ; roast him for ten minutes before a 
brisk fire, and serve him on toast, with gravy in a boat 
apart. 

Queen Charlotte's Pudding. — Take two oranges and 
one lemon, grate the peels and mix with the juice, into 
which put four ounces of sugar and the yolks of five eggs. 
Then make a little paste for the bottom of the dish, into 
which pour the mixture. Bake it slowly in a moderate 
oven. 

The Queen's Chicken Soup (the queen being Margue- 
rite of Valois). — See Chicken. 

Quenelle is one of the many words of the French 
kitchen which Frenchmen — learned and simple — have 
given up as inscrutable. It is the name for the most deli- 
cate forcemeat, which the French cooks prepare sometimes 
from chickens, sometimes from whitings, sometimes from 
game— but originally from young rabbits. Quenelle is a 
doublet of the old French name for a young rabbit — connil, 
a Uttle oony — and it is formed from the Latin cuYiicidtM, in I 
the same way as the French name for a distaff, Quenouille,! 
is formed from conucidaj a corruption of the Latin colu* 
cula. Quenelle of rabbit, therefore, is a pleonasm meaning 
a little cony of rabbit ; and quenelle of chicken is an 
absurdity, meaning a little cony of chicken. 

Mince, pound, and pass through a sieve, say half a pound 
of rabbit'sflesh, — final weight after the sieve. With this mix 
and pound a little more than half the quantity of boiled 
udder of veal, which has been treated in the same way ; 
say five ounces. To this again add the same quantity of 
panada as of udder. Pound all well together, seasoned 
with salt, pepper, and nutmeg, and softened with the 
yolks of two eggs and a tablespoonful of white sauce or of 
cream. Before this quenelle is put aside for use it should 



368 Quince 

be tested. Poach a tiny bit of it, and if it should come too 
stiff, moisten the quenelle with another spoonful of white 
broth or else cream. If udder of veal should fail, fresh 
butter may be used instead in the same proportions — 
eight ounces of pounded rabbit, five of fresh butter, and 
five of panada. 

Chicken, game, and fish prepared in the same way are 
also called little conies or Quenelles. The Quenelles of 
whiting are in great favour ; but it is to be noted that 
in Quenelles of fish there is never any veal udder, — the 
combination is always fish, butter, and panada, finished off 
as before. 

Quince has gone out of fashion ; and it is natural that 
when the best fruits of the tropics are brought to our 
shores quickly in ships, we should neglect some of those 
grown at home. It is to be desired, however, that apple-pie 
should never go out of fashion; and quinces have this 
curious virtue : that, being of little value themselves — 
not nearly so good as apples — ^they improve an apple-pie 
beyond the power of words to describe. 

Quinces for addition to apple-pie. — Peel them and cut 
them in quarters. To five pounds of fruit put three of 
sugar and a wineglassful of water. Put ihem in pint 
jars, cover them, place them in boiling water, and simmer 
them very gently for three hours. Put the peels in with 
them, and take them out when done. What is not wanted 
at once can be bottled. 



Rabbits 369 




[ABBITS. — St Evremond, about two hundred 
years ago, praised ilie rabbits of England as 
incomparable. Now the Ostend rabbit has 
the great name. Of the wild rabbit, Gri- 
mod de la Reynifere says that " its flesh is whiter, more 
tender, and more juicy than that of the hare, and when 
young it is delicate and easily digested. Nourished on 
thyme, wild thyme, and marjoram, barded with bacon, and 
cooked to the proper pointy it perfumes the mouth and 
inundates the palate with delights. As for tame rabbits, 
we insist on their proscription ; for ever since Despr&ux, 
these game of the stableyard, 

elev^B dans Paris, 
Sentent encoTe le choa dont ils farent noorris." 

The young rabbit or cony (connil) has given his name to the 
most delicate of the forcemeats, the Quenelle; and there is 
an excellent 

Babbit Soup made after the manner of the Queen's 
Chicken broth — the Potage k la Heine. 

Smothered Rabbit. — This is the name given in England 
to boiled rabbit. It is smothered with a white onion sauce, 
and it is served with boiled bacon. 

Fricassee of Rabbit is done in the same way as fricassee 
of chicken. 

Gibelote of Rabbit. — Put a quarter of a pound of butter 
into a stewpan with a spoonful of flour ; make a white 
roux of them, and pass in it for a short time the rabbit cut 
into pieces, and some bacon cut into dice. Then add some 
small onions, some mushrooms, a faggot of sweet-herbs, 
pepper and salt, and moisten all with half broth, half white 
wine (French). Let all cook slowly till it is nearly ready, 
then briskly, to reduce the liquid. Remove the faggot and 
the fat from the gibelote, and serve it piping hot 

24 



370 Radish 

Radish. — Not a word against the radish* Still, it may 
be lawful to record that it is not of much nse in cookery, 
whatever it may be in eating. May I also venture to 
say that it is a mistake in a salad — an intrusion ; and 
that the only way to eat it is to nibble it by itself 
while waiting for the fea^^t, or in any convenient interlude. 
Be it added that there are few combinations of colour so 
beautiful and rich as the red and white of radishes against 
the green of their leaves. In glass dishes upon a dinner- 
table they are an ornament which may vie with the finest 
flowers. 

RagoCt. — The ordinary English use of this word for a 
stew will be illustrated in the next article, which deals with 
the RagoM of Mutton. Here it is to be observed that in 
French the word is most commonly used in a sense which 
it hardly ever bears in English. The proper English word 
for what the French understand by a ragout is a relish. A 
ragout in English always takes its name from the food 
which is presented in it^ and means no more than a good 
stew of that meai In French a ragout takes its name 
from the garnish in the sauce : it is the savoury accom- 
paniment of the stew — the relish. English cooks are 
puzzled when they hear of the Financial ragout, which 
covers a variety of stews ; or the Turtle ragout, in which 
there is no turtle. It is right, therefore, that there may 
be no mistake, to discard the puzzling French name, and 
to give the plain English one. The list of French ragouts 
will accordingly be found under the name of Relishes. 

RAGot^T OF Mutton. — ^As there is no one word in 
English for all that the French mean by Friture, so there is 
no one word in French for all that the English mean by 
Stew. Perhaps the nearest word is ragoiit — ^which means 
something tasted again ; but the French are so little fond 
of it, as the name of a stew, that they dismiss it whenever 
and however they can find a substitute. Thus a stew of 



Ragout of Mutton 371 



fresh-water fish is called a matelote; of salt fish, a brandade; 
of winged game, a salmi; of hare, a civet; of rabbit, a gibe- 
lote ; of chicken, a fricassee ; of pigeons, a compote ; of beef, 
a danbe ; of mutton, a haricot or a Navario. They seem-, to 
have been particularly pressed to find a name for the stew 
of mutton. During many centuries they had been making 
a stew of it, combined with turnips, carrots, and onions, 
which they called a ragout The word was twisted about 
on the German frontier till it came back to France un- 
recognisable — as haricot. Five centuries ago the French 
adopted this odd new name for their favourite old dish, 
which was still a stew of mutton with turnips, carrots, and 
onions. But about two hundred years afterwards the name 
of haricot was given also to a kidney bean, and stuck to it 
in such a way as to produce in the French mind more 
puzzle and confusion than all the mysteries of fate and 
free-will — especially as they reversed the order of things, 
and got a notion into their heads that the name of haricot 
for the stew came after the name of the bean. Why should 
a stew be called after a bean which has nothing to do with 
it ? What it means has been explained under the name of 
Haricot Here it is enough to say that the French, having 
introduced the word haricot in place of rago(it, felt, after 
many years of confusion, that they must introduce some 
other word in place of haricot. They fixed upon Navarin 
for this, among other reasons — that it seemed to suggest, in 
a loose, punning title, the navet or turnip, which had become 
all important in the famous haricot of mutton. Anciently 
this ragout or haricot was adorned with three chief vege- 
tables — ^turnips, carrots, and onions. Gradually the last 
two came to be pushed into the background, and the first 
alone to be prominent The haricot of mutton settled into 
a brown ragout of mutton and turnips, which the French 
cooks who wished to get rid of the word haricot named 
after the battle of Navarin. The receipt for this stew will 
accordingly be found under the head of Navarin. 



372 Ratafia 

White Ragout of MuttorL — This is sometimes called a 
Navarin Blanc; but as the Navariu is supposed to pun a 
little upon the navet, which is the leading feature of the 
ancient harico^ and as here we can dispense with turnips 
altogether, it is best to call it simply a white ragout. 

1. Take the neck or the breast of mutton or lamb, cut it 
into cutlets or other pieces, trim well away the fat, and have 
all ready on a plate. 

2. Put a shalot, four spring onions, a clove of garlic, 
and a good faggot of sweet-herbs, with pepper, salt, and 
powdered spices, into a saucepan half full of water. 

3. Put the meat into this. See that it is well covered ?rith 
the water. Let it simmer very gently for four hours. The 
sauce should then be reduced by half, but it should not be 
allowed to brown. Remove the faggot of herbs. 

4. In the meantime choose what garniture of vegetables, 
either singly or in combination, is to enter into the stew : 
new potatoes, peas, flageolet beans, rice — or say, a medley 
of all sorts. Put them in half an hour before dinner, and 
let all boil briskly for that half-hour. 

5. Observe that this is the simplest ragout in the world: 
no roux in it, no flour, no fat, no butter. Observe also that 
since the liquor will boil doiA'n to less than half, care must 
be taken as to the quantity of salt 

For other white ragouts of mutton, see Irish Stew and 
Hotch Potch. 

Ratafia means no more than liqueur — an alcohol 
sweetened with sugar and flavoured with fruit or vegetable 
essences ; but there is a mystery made about its etymology, 
and it is supposed to have a character of its own. One 
wise philologer declares that the liqueur is so called be- 
cause two persons who enter into a bargain ratify the con- 
tract with a glass of this liqueur. It is really a corruption 
of Rectifi^ — rectified spirit, and is the proper equivalent 



Red Mullet 373 



for the English word spirits, which may include anything 
from gin to maraschino. 

Eavigote — Pick-me-up. It comes from the French verb 
ravigoter, to cheer or strengthen. We give the name of 
pick-me-up to various bitter draughts taken before dinner 
to create an appetite. The French give the name of Ravi- 
gote to an assemblage of four herbs — tarragon, chervil, 
chives, bumet — minced small or used as a faggot, and 
supposed by their fine flavour to have a rare faculty of 
resuscitation. Ra\ngote (minced) is the favourite garni- 
ture for salads; and in this case is usually served on a 
saucer by itself, each herb being kept apart in four little 
heaps, to be used by the salad-maker at his pleasure. 

RtLvigote Buttei*. — Knead cold fresh butter on a plate, 
with a chopped ravigote, pepper, salt, and lemon-juice. It 
is usual to blanch the herb3 before chopping them. A pat 
of this butter is put cold on steaks or broiled fish, and 
melts upon them. 

Ravigote Sau^e is simply the English butter sauce to 
which a ravigote is added. Sometimes there is a little 
tarragon vinegar added, to bring out the supremacy of the 
tarragon in the ravigote class of herbs, but not to make 
the sauce sharp. 

A more expensive but hardly more effective edition of 
this sauce is produced by heating and melting (observe — 
not boiling) two wineglassfuls of Allemande sauce with an 
ounce of ravigote butter. When the butter is melted all 
is ready. Tarragon vinegar may here also be used, so 
long as it does not predominate too mucb in sharpening. 
Perhaps Editions de luxe are not of much real value. 

Red Mullet is called the woodcock of the sea, because, 
in theory at least, he is never gutted, and we are always 
supposed to eat the trail. It is curious, however, to see 



374 ^^ Mullet 



how nearly all the books, after first laying down the rule that 
it is wrong to clean this fish, at once proceed to explain how 
the rule may be violated, and he is to be served with only 
his liver. The fact is, that the red mullet is not a choice 
feeder, and his trail Is by no means the delicacy which the 
rule so often violated would lead one to imagine. What, 
then, is the reason of the rule? It is simply this: that the 
liver of the red mullet is particularly good — so good that, 
in order to preserve it intact, the epicures of ancient times 
were content, cooking the fish whole, to have the other vis- 
cera sent to table along with it We know better now; and, 
while careful to preserve every atom of the liver, reject the 
trail without any compunction. Next to the liver in repute 
stands the head. Heliogabalus had a dish made of the 
barbels alone — but this was of a red mullet peculiar to the 
Mediterranean. 

Bed mullets, on account of the tenuity of their skins, 
are best cooked im paper cases. Make a paper cradle for 
each fish, oiling it and baking it for a few minutes in order 
to harden it. Sprinkle the cradle with pepper and salt, and 
lay on it a piece of the best fresh butter. On this couch 
deposit the red mullet, and put a piece of fresh butter over 
him. Arrange the paper cases in a flat stewpan, or even 
in a baking-tin, and put them into the oven for twenty or 
thirty minutes. At the end of this time the red mullets^ 
bedewed with lemon-juice, will be as pleasant to taste as 
lovely to look at. Only never forget, amid tbe blaze of 
vermilion tints, that the true worth of the fish resides not 
in the glitter of the skin, but ia the dull brown of the 
liver, which may either lie exposed to view in the paper 
cradle at the side of its owner, or may be hidden from 
sight, as precious virtues often are, in the bosom of the 
mullet. 

A more highly seasoned method is the following: — Put 
into a stewpan, or into paper cases, butter, white wine, 
minced shalots, pepper and salt. Arrange the mullets in 



Relish 375 

the pan^ and put a piece of butter oyer each. Do them 
in the oven^ and when sending them to table sprinkle them 
with lemon-juice and minced parsley. 

Red mullets may be had all the year round^ but they 
are best &om midsummer to Christmaa. The best used 
to be caught at Weymouth. Their head-quarters now 
are Hastings and Jersey. Get into the confidence of any 
good judge who understand^ the nature of John Dory^ and 
he will unbosom to you a great secret — ^that the glory 
of fish is a Dory graced with the livers of red mullets. 

Relish. — It has already been explained that this is what 
the French mean by a ragout. Strictly speaking, a relish 
and a garnish ought to be convertible terms: they are both 
accompaniments. In practice the name of Garnish is given 
to any one thing — ^generally to a vegetable, more or less 
plain, which is served with meat ; and the name of Relish 
to a combination — as onions, mushrooms, truffles, cocks- 
combs, quenelles, crayfish, oysters, and soft roes, which 
are worked into the attendant sauce. 

1. Financial Iteliah, — Foremost among them stands the 
Relish of the Financiers, who have an article to themselves 
further back. Cockscombs and kernels, collops of sweet- 
bread, quenelles, button mushrooms, and sliced truffles, 
separately prepared, and then boiled together for a moment 
in the Sauce of the Financiers. 

2. Toulouse RelisL-^The same as the foregoing, only 
tossed for a minute or two in Allemande sauce. It is 
white, whereas No. 1 is brown. 

3. Turtle Relish. — Take sweetbreads in little collops, a 
few cockscombs, crayfish, hard-boiled yolks of eggs, discs 
of tongue or of ham, olives, green ^gherkins, truffles, with 
a large supply of mushrooms, and set them on the fire for 
a minute in a sauce made (equal parts) of Spanish and 
Tomato sauces. 



376 Remoulade 



4. Chipolala Jtelish — a great favourite for poultry, 
Chipolatas are small sausages, about two inches long, 
made of pork and bacon. Use instead of them either 
Frankfort sausages by themselves, or if ordinary pork 
sausages, add to them an equal number of little slices of 
bacon made into rolls. Cook these apart, and add to 
them equal quantities of carrots, turnips, mushrooms, and 
chestnuts nicely turned, and also cooked apart. Set them 
on the fire for a minute in Spanish sauce. 

5. Poulette Relish — used with chicken, from which it 
takes its name, but more frequently with calves' feet, 
sheep's trotters, and some kinds of fish — notably eels. It 
consists of shalots and mushrooms passed in butter, and 
served with chopped parsley in a Poulette sauce. 

6. Matelote Relish, — Small onions and mushrooms in- a 
red-wine sauce, described under the name of Matelote. 
Crayfish and fried crusts of bread are prepared apart and 
added to the garnish in serving. 

7. Relish of the Normandy Matelote. — A quantity of 
oysters, mussels and mushrooms, prepared in a white- 
wine sauce, to which the liquor of the mussels contributes. 
For more detail consult the article on Sole & la Normande. 

8. Relish of Soft Roes, — Parboil in some boiling water 
mixed with salt and two tablespoonfuls of white-wine 
vinegar, the soft roes of mackerel, carp or herring ; drain 
them on a napkin, and then toss them in sOme white sauce 
— Allemande or Supreme, to which may be added chopped 
parsley, nutmeg and lemon-juice. 

Bemoulade. — This is in fact, as near as possible, the 
ordinary English salad dressing. Or it may be otherwise 
described as a Mayonnaise made with hard-boiled yolks of 
eggs. Some of the French receipts give directions for 
making it with raw yolks ; but this is a mistake, as the 
Bemoulade would then become identical w^ith a Mayon- 



Restaurant 377 



naise. The name comes from the verb remoudre, to grind — 
and refers to grinding to a fine flour the hard yolk. By 
carefully and gradually grinding together the yolks of two 
hard-boiled eggs, with five tablespoonfuls of oil, one or 
one and a half of tarragon vinegar, a little salt and white 
pepper, it is possible to produce a Remoulade as smooth 
as a Mayonnaise, and differing in no respect from a good 
English salad dressing. 

^e Remoulade is thus far complete, and requires no 
addition to justify its name. But some people choose to 
add mustard to it ; others, a chopped ravigote; and others, 
again, both mustard and a ravigote. It then becomes a 
Tartar sauce. 

Restaurant — the Soup. Restaurant was originally 
the name of a soup with a strange history. One of the 
earliest accounts of it is to be found in a little book pub- 
lished at Lyons in 1557, and supposed to be the first work 
of Bernard Palissy, the potter. It is an attack upon the 
ignorance and blunders of doctors — " Declaration des Abus 
des M^decins "; and the name of the author is given, not as 
Bernard Palissy, but as Pierre Braillier. Whoever be the 
author, he showed for the first time the absurdity of the 
fashionable soup. 

He opens his attack upon it by ridiculing a detail which 
is not essential, but is curious, and of interest to this 
day. The physicians of those days recommended an old 
hen or capon to make a good soup for invalids. The 
tradition of this remains not only in the cock-a-leekie of 
the Scotch, which is always supposed to be made of an old 
cock (and they are in this respect only following rules 
which they learned from the cooks patronised by Mary 
Stuart and Mary of Guise), but also in the French kitchen 
to this day. Nearly all the great French cooks recommend 
an old hen for soups. Now here is something curious. In 
ibe year 1557 Braillier, be he Palissy or another, laughej 



378 Restaurant 



to scorn the old fowl, and insisted that a young one is much 
better — ^fuller of nourishment and of flavour. For three 
kundred years his advice has been set aside, and the old 
fowl has been imperative in French kitchens for a good 
soup. At the end of these three hundred years Gouffe 
produces his book on cookery — the best that has appeared 
in France since the death of CarSme. He has come to the 
conclusion that the tradition of the French kitchen — the 
old fowl — is a mistake ; and he insists on the superiority of 
a fowl in its prime. It is difficult to decide between the 
two, and impossible to lay down a fixed rule to which no 
exception can be taken. There is no rule more certain 
than this — that four-year-old mutton is better than the twor 
year-old meat which comes to market^ and that full-grown 
animals are better than the very young. But exceptions 
crowd upon us. K the older meat is so good, why do we 
take to lamb and to veal, and pay high prices for them? 
Our affections are divided between the old and the young, 
and we shall never probably be constant to either. We 
get tired of the old because it is apt to be strong, and of 
the young because it is apt to be insipid. The Marquis de 
Cussy laid down the following rule: — " Voyez-vous, les 
meilleures viandes sont celles qui sont le moins viandesy 
comme les poissons exquis sont ceux qui sont le moins 
poissons: soyez convain^u de ce principe.'' In plain En- 
glish, good fish ought not to taste fishy, nor should meat be 
meaty, nor should fowls taste of the henhouse. And these 
faults are more liable to the old than to the young. 

The great and almost incredible fault of tiie Restaurant, 
however, was not in the substance it used, but in the 
manner of using it. A fowl was to be minced small with 
butchers' meat, and was to be distUUd in an alembic with 
barley, roses, cinnamon, corianders, and curronts. The 
dew thus distilled, which was nothing but water without 
substance and without flavour, was declared by the phy- 
sicians of the sixteenth century to have a wonderful restora- 






Restaurant 379 



tive virtue ; nor did the soup Jose its good name even 
after Bernard Palissy exposed the fallacy of its pretensions. 
A hundred years later, however — to fix our ideas, say 1660, 
when Louis the Great was in all his glory in Paris, and 
Charles 11. was coming to London — it would appear that 
some doubts had sprung up in the minds of those who 
consumed the Restaurant ; for in nearly all the French 
cookery books there are two receipts for it. One was the 
old orthodox receipt for distillation: the other may be de- 
scribed as a stultification of the distillery. The dregs from 
which the juice had been distilled were made into a sort of 
pur^, and then the distilled water was put back into it. 
This farce amused the French imagination with a make- 
believe of science; and the soup held its ground for another 
hundred years, more or less, till in 1765 a. tavern was 
established with the name of Restaurant, to supply the 
wonderftil soup and other aliments prepared in the like 
grand style. 

JIestaurant — ^the Tavern. " Sir,'^ said Dr. Johnson to 
Boswell, " there is nothing which has been contrived by 
man by which so much happiness is produced as by a good 
tavern;" and on the same occasion — the date is 1776 — 
expatiating '^ on the felicity of England in its taverns and 
inns, he triumphed over the French for not having in any 
perfection the tavern life." The French, however, were 
soon to change ; and adopting the English idea, they so 
improved upon it that we have consented to adopt their 
name for it, and to forget the absurdities of the soup with 
which it was at first connected. 

The first establishment of the kind in Paris was started 
by a humourist named Boulanger, who put a rather prpfane 
moiio—Venite ad m€j omnes qui stomacho laboratisj et ego voe 
restaurabo—OYer his door in the Rue des Poulies. He set 
up a place with little marble tables. He was not allowed 
table-cloths, and he was not allowed to interfere with the 



38o Rice 

ragouts which wew to be had from the traUeur. He 
provided his customers with soups — and especially the 
restaurant divin ; also with fowls and fresh eggs. He was 
soon followed by others ; but it was not till 1782 that a 
restaurant was established such as we have it now, fit to 
rival and outdo the English tavern, and perfect in all its 
arrangements. This was set up by Beauvilliers, who, in 
his standard work on cookery, takes credit to himself for 
having introduced the English style of food into Paris. 
He soon made his fortune; and the fashion which he started 
spread till it became quite a feature of Parisian life. 
Grimod de la Reynifere attributes to three chief causes the 
rise and wonderful progress of the Bestaurant in Paris. 
First of all, to the rage for English fashions which marked 
the latter years of Louis XVI. — "for the English, it is 
well known, almost always take their meals in taverns." 
Next, to the sudden influx into the capital of legislators 
under the new order of Government — popular deputies 
without homes, who made the vogue, and drew all Paris to 
the taverns and coffee-rooms. Lastly, to the break-up of the 
great houses in the Revolution. The artists to whom they 
gave employment were thrown out of work, and turned 
their talents to catering for the public. Whatever were 
the causes at work, the French cooks bent all their efforts 
to perfect the system of the restaurant ; with their rare 
skill and taste they could not fail of success ; and they pro- 
duced a model which has been imitated all over the globe. 

Rice is not too often seen at our tables. It can be made 
very pleasant; it contains as much nourishment as the 
potato ; and it is digested in an hour — which can be 
said of very few articles of food. It combines, like the 
macaronis, with broth to form a variety of soups, with 
milk and egg to form puddings, and with butter alone, or 
butter and grated cheese, to form an entremet which is 
light without being sweet. There is no sweet entremet 



Roasting 381 

» 

more simple, and at the same time more effective, than the 
combination of plain boiled rice with preserved or stewed 
frait and cream. It is not easy, however, to get rice 
properly boiled. This is not because there is any difficulty 
in it, but because there are many people who think rice 
insipid, and not worth the trouble of cooking. They 
cannot understand how other people should be almost 
fanatical in their enjoyment of rice, should regard a curry 
as nothing without it, and should insist on having the rice 
perfectly dry — every .grain apart. 

Boiled Rice. — Wash the rice — Carolina is the best — in 
water. Throw it into. plenty of boiling water. The pro- 
portion is six pounds (that is, pints) of water to one of rice; 
therefore, three pints of water to half a pound of rice. 
Boil it for five minutes, and skim it. Add a wineglassful 
of milk for half a pound of rice, and continue the boiling 
for five minutes more. Then strain the rice, and return it 
dry into the pot upon the comer of the stove or a slow fire; 
but at the same time pour into it an ounce of butter 
melted into a spoonful of the hot milk and water in which 
the rice was boiled, and add salt. In five minutes the 
rice, which should now and again be stirred, to swell, steam 
and dry it, should be ready. Fifteen minutes in all. 

Rissoles. — 'Take puff paste — the lighter the better, and 
roll it out to the thickness of a penny. Cut rounds in it 
about three inches in diameter. Into the centre of each 
place some croquette meat. Double the paste over. Fry them 
in hot fat, and serve them on a napkin with fried parsley. 

Roasting. — The first lesson which the cook has to learn 
is to know what roasting is, and how it differs 'from other 
modes of firing food. In one use of the term, roasting 
is something distinct from baking, broiling, and frjring; 
according to another, it includes baking, broiling, and 
frying. In the widest sense, to roast is to cook food by 



382 Roasting 

the application to it of a roasting heat; and a roasting heat 
may be described as the highest degree of heat which will 
cook food without bnrning it np and destroying it. Roast- 
ing, commonly so called, broiling, baking, and frying, ai-e 
but different modes of applying this extreme heat The 
heat of a common fire is said to be equivalent to 1145 
degrees of a thermometer on Fahrenheit's scale ; an 
ordinary red heat is said to be 980°, How near to such a 
heat can we approach so as to roast meat without burning 
it? A roasting heat varies from 350° to 450° — ^that is, 
about double the heat of boilisg water; and as we have 
defined roasting (which includes roasting proper, baking, 
broiling, and frying) to be the cooking of food by the 
application to it of the utmost degree of heat which will 
cook it without destroying it, so we may define boiling 
(which ' includes boiling proper as well as simmering 
and stewing) as the cooking of food by the application 
to it of the lowest degree of heat which will cook it 
in a reasonable time. This lowest degree of heat ranges 
between 170°, for very slow stewing, and 212°, for the 
quickest boiling. The extreme heat required for roastina 
evolves certain flavours which it is impossible to reach 
by mere boiling ; and it will be seen, by reference to the 
numbers, that whereas a roasting heat is about half of what 
is called red heat, a boiling heat is about the half of roasts 
ing heat. It may be added, that between the two extreme 
forms of cookery, roasting and boiling, with all that they 
severally include, theie are two modes of producinor a 
medium heat with a medium result. One is called brazino- 
— the meat being in a stewpan with live coals on the lid 
above, whereby while the under part is stewing the upper 
part is roasting. The other is called tossing in butter 
(sauter), and is a process of frying in which the roasting 
heat that would be developed if the pan were left still is 
arrested by tossing its contents, so that they never reach the 
browning point, which is the chief indication of roasting. 



Roasting 383 

So much for the theory of roasting, which applies equally 
to baking, broiling, and frying, and which will be found 
further illustrated throughout this volume in many dis- 
cussions on the cardinal division of cookery into brown and 
white. For the rule of what is specially called roasting, 
Mr. Buckmaster has summed up the chief points to be 
attended to in the pithy sentenced which follow : — 

" I believe I am regarded as a sort of heretic on the 
question of roasting meat. My opinion is that the essential 
condition of good roasting is constant basting, and this the 
meat is not likely to have when shut up in an iron box; 
and what is not easily done is easily neglected. Make up 
your fire, not by shooting on a scuttle of coals, but laying 
on the coals with your hands, using an old glove. Arrange 
the lumps of coal so that air passes freely into the fire. By 
this arrangement you may avoid stirring the fire — which 
should be done as little as possible. Just before putting 
down the meat (which may be suspended by a piece of 
worsted, if you have no other arrangements), clear up the 
fireplace, and throw to the back of the fire all the cinders 
and a little small coal slightly wetted. This wiU prevent 
waste of fuel, and throw the heat where you want it — in 
the front. If you have a meat screen, place it before the 
fire, so as to get moderately heated before the meat is hung 
to the fire. Heat reflected from bright metallic surfaces 
never dries or scorches the meat. Arrange the dripping- 
pan so that no ashes can fall into it, and just as far below 
the meat as will enable you to baste it easily. If you have 
a little dripping or stock, put about a giU into the dripping- 
pan for basting. Place a newspaper on the floor ; this 
will keep your hearth clean. There is a right and a wrong 
way of hanging a piece of meat to roast. The thickest 
part should hang a trifle below the centre of the fire; and 
if this can be best done by hanging the shank of a leg of 
mutton downwards, do so. The time required for roasting 
will be modified by circumstances; and difierent kinds or 



384 



Roasting 



qualities of meat require somewhat different treatmenL 
The time osoally allowed is from fifteen to twenty minutes 
for a pound. Before removing the meat from the fire, 
press the lean part with the thumb : if the meat yield 
easily, or if the meat steam to the fire, it is done. Nev^r 
sprinkle salt over the meat till about a quarter of an hoar 
before it is ready. Pour away the dripping before using 
the salty because fat used for puddings and pies and frying 
is better without salt Yon may dredge a little flour over 
it ; and every part should be of a nioe pale brown: if any 
part be scorched or blackened, you have failed in yonr 
cooking. Pour off the dripping, leaving in the pan the 
pure gravy free from £Eit. Have a gill or half a pint of 
stock or broth, or water, ready; pour it into the dripping- 
pan, rinse it round, strain it into the dish, and send it to 
table as quickly as possible. Some cooks tie a piece of 
buttered paper on the meat." 



Time-table for Roastinq. 

The following figures are not exact. A great deal 
depends on the quality of the meat to be roasted, its dis- 
tance frmn the fire, and the heat of the fire. In England, 
said Careme, all the women roast well ; but he attributed the 
success of English roasting to the constancy of a coal fire 
and to the regularity of the bottle-jack, which has not, like 
the turnspit machine in France, to be wound up every 
quarter of an hour. 



Hours. 

Beef, 16 to 20 lbs. 4 

„ 7 or 8 lbs 2 

Veal, fillet, 10 Iba % 

Neck or loin, 4 lbs. 2 

Leg of Mutton, 8 to 10 lbs. 2 

Shoulder „ 6 lbs \\ 

Leg of Lamb, 6 lbs li 



Hour*. 

Foreguarter, 8 lbs 2 

Leg of Pork, 8 lbs 3 

Loin ,, 6 lbs 2 

Haunch of Venison 4 to 5 

Hare Ij 

Turkey, 9 lbs 2 

Goose, 61bs 1 



Robert 



385 



Minutes. 

Capon 60 

Poularde 45 

Chicken 30 

Duck 60 

Duckling iO 

Pheasant / S5 



Minutes. 

Partridge 16 to 20 

Woodixxsk 

WUd duck 

Widgeon 

Pigeon 

Quail. ^ 



n 



It 



ROBEBT, and his sance. Who is this Bobert? Mr. 
Hayward, who is generally accarate, and always amus. 
ing, has had the bad lack to say that it ^^as invented 
by M. Robert, one of the leading cooks under the First 
Empire. These cooks nerer invented anything so simple 
as tiie Sance Robert — which is so ancient that Rabelais 
describes it as necessary for *^ducks^ rabbUs, roasts, fresh 
pork, poached eggs, salt hake, and a thousand other 
viands." It is, indeed, nearly three hundred years older 
than Rabelais — being mentioned by the French cook 
Taillevent, in the middle of the thirteenth century. It 
is older even than Taillevent, and nobody can tell how 
old it is. For the fact is, that Robert is a myth* It 
is the corruption of an English name which the French 
did not understand. There was then a very free inter- 
change of French and English. Half of France be- 
longed to England; and as there were French names of 
dishes in England which the English did not understand, 
so there were Englifidi names of dishes in France which 
the French did not understand. The French had their 
brouet de chevreuil ; and the English had their Roebroth 

\ and Roebrewet, for which there were a .nimiber ef varying 
receipts. One of these receipts the French picked up; and 
with that gloriousfaoulty of altering names which has never 
failed them since they appear in history, they thought its 
name must be the same as that of their famous Norman 
duke, and they called it Robert. In its original idea 

/ Robert was Roebrewet — that is^ Roebuck sauce. In the 
present day there is to be found in cookery books a receipt 

25 



386 Robin Redbreast 



for Roebuck or Chevrenil saaco, as well as for Sauce 
Bobert. It may be observed that roebuck is not once 
mentioned bj Rabelais among the Tiands for which the 
Sauce Robert is necessary; modem taste has confined it 
almost exclusively to pork and to goose. 

For the Sauce Robert there is a great variety of receipts; 
and the later French cooks have a strong tendency to drench 
it with vinegar and \i4ne, and to make it distinctly a sharp 
sauce. Beauvilliers' receipt, which is much the best^ is 
very chary of acid. See the introductory chapter; and 
here only note this much further — ^that the name Sauce 
Robert is^ according to the above explanation^ tautological: 
Robert ought to be enough. 

Beauvilliers* Receipt for Robert. — Cut six large onions 
— or even more — into dice, dredge them with flour, 
and pass them in butter till they are of a fine brown tint. 
Moisten them with a very little broth, and let them cook. 
Add salt, mignonette pepper, and last of all French mus- 
tard; after which it ought n^ to go. to the fire, as to cook 
mustard spoils it. In lieu of French mustard use English 
mixed with tarragon vinegar. 

Robin Redbreast is a bird of the same order as the 
famous fig-eater — or beoafico. "The robin redbreast,*' 
says Mr. Hay ward, ^^ is remarkable for a delicate bitter 
flavour ; but as our ingenuous recommendation of him as 
an eatable commodity has been occasionally regarded as 
symptomatic of a latent tendency to cannibalism, it may be 
as well to state that the pc^ular notion of his amiability, 
which rests upon the apocryphal story of the Children in 
the Wood, is altogether a mistake. Ornithologists are 
agreed that he is one of the most quarrelsome of birds; and 
his loneliness is in iact the natural result of his pugnacity." 
Mr, Hayward, besides being a witty writer, is, when he 
likes, a close reasoner ; and he cannot but see that if the 
friendliness of the Redbreast for mankind will not save 



Raman Cookery 387 



him from the iq)rt^ be is practically protected by bis lone- 
liness. There is not enough of him to make it worth 
any one's while to put him^ on a dish. 

Roe. — The roe of the sturgeon — caviare, the roe of the 
grey mullet — ^botargo, and the dried and smoked roe of 
the cod, are prepared delicacies which belong to the shops. 
These too are aU hard roes. It is with the soft roes — the 
milt, the laitance — that the cook has to do. 

RagoiU of Soft Rbes^ — A. fevourite relish of tjie French 
kitchen. See Relish No. 8. 

Erasmus^ Soup. — ^The great scholar had a taste, and his 
name is given to a soup in which the soft roes figure. 
Take ten soft roes of the herrings and cook them for ten 
minutes in water, salt, and a little vinegar. Then pass 
them into salt and water for a time, to get rid of the 
vinegar taste. Drain them, cut them in two,' and heat 
them up in a sufficient quantity of dear broth or 
double broth, either with a quart of young peas or with 
crusts of bread and a spoonful of blanched and chopped 
fennel. 

Roe Toast — Slices of buttered toast with the soft roes of 
fresh bloaters arranged upon them. 

RoLET PoLEY, or Rolled Jam Pudding. — Roll ou t 
some puff paste (No. 4) about a quarter of an inch thick, 
spread it with jam, roll it up, tie it loosely in. a cloth, and 
boil it. 

Roman Cookert is a warning. The ridicule which 
it now excites is a tribute to the more simple taste and 
delicate manipulation of modern times. Mines of wealth 
were spent upon it ; infinite pains were wasted upon it ; 
the uttermost parts of the earth were ransacked ; five 
hundred peacocks were killed, to make with their brains 
a single dish — ^and to what result ? Any Ficardy kitchen* 
maid will turn out a better dinner for a few francs. 



388 Rook 

All may be snmmed up in the convivial song of Captain 

Morris : — 

Old LncnlliiB^ they say, 

Forty cooks had each day, 
And Yitellius's meals cost a million ; 

But I like what is good, 

When or where be my food. 
In a chophouse or royal pavilion. 

At all f eastv (if enough) 

I most heartily stuff, 
And a song at my heart alike rushes, 

Though IVe not fed my lungs 

Upon nightingales' tongues, 
Kor the brains of goldlinches and thrudies. 

Rook. — ^"If this useful bird," says Waterton, *'were 
not so closely allied to the carrion-crow in colonr and in 
shape, we should see it sent up to the tables of the rich as 
often as we see the pigeon. But prejudice forbids the 
appearance of broiled rook in the lordly mansion. If we 
wiSh to partake of it, we must repair to the cottage of the 
lowly swain, or here and there to the hall of the homely 
country squire, whose kitchen has never been blessed by 
the presence of a first-rate cook, and whose yearnings for 
a good and wholesome dish are not stifled by the fear of 
what a too highly polished world will say." 

For rook pie, take fillets and thighbones of the young 
bird, and proceed as for pigeon pie ; but they take long 
baking — perhaps an hour and a half — ^and may as well be 
stewed a little first. 

Roux means russet It is flour and butter fried together 
to a russet hue. Then there is white roux — that is, white 
russet — a fine contradiction of terms. It is flour and 
butter cooked together, but not allowed to brown. 

Rum. — The French make a much greater use in cookery 
of rum than the English, who distil it. Their omelet with 
rum is a delightful invention. The rum which they eat 



Saffron 389 

with plum-pudding, is not so good. The English burn 
brandy by preference over it ; and the plum-pudding is so 
saccharine in itself, and so full of luscious flavours, that it 
seems better in taste to give it for a sauce the contrast of 
brandy than the comparison of rum. 

Dr. Edward Smi^, the chief English authority on 
dietetics, declares that the most powerful restorative known 
to him is the oldr-fashioned combination of rum and milk. 
Ye who are weak drink thimblefuls of rum in tumblerfuls 
of new milk I 




|ADDLE OP MUTTON;— There is really but 
one way of doing a saddle — to roast it ; but 
the French have a way of sometimes boning 
it, rolling it upy and- brazing it. Kiey might 
as well boil it. They understand their gigot ; but tiiey are 
not to be trusted with a saddle, which is in England very 
properly regarded as the prime piece of the mutton. 
Frenchmen would not be so ready to interfere with the 
bones of the saddle if they knew of a little fact which is 
quite familiar in England — that there is a distinct difference 
of flavour between a roasted half-saddle and a roasted loin. 
What is known as a hali-saddle comes from the butcher 
with a rigid backbone. The loin of mutton is precisely the 
same piece of meat ; but when so called, the vertebrae of 
the back are disjointed, so that it can be carved in chops. 
This may be a more economical way of cutting the meat, 
but it injures the taste. 

Saffron. — It is the elegiac muse that ought to write 
the account of saffron, for its glory is departed. The 
stigmas of this autumnal crocus (crocus sativus) were once 
all important in European cookery, and were supposed to 
possess the rarest virtues and attractions. Henry Stephen 
said of it — ^^ Saffron should be put into all Lenten soups, 



390 Sago 

sauces and viands. Without saffron we could never have 
a good pur^e, good peas, nor good sauce." There was a 
time when England was known as merry England; and 
Lord Bacon in his History of Life and Death says : " Tho 
English are rendered sprightly by a liberal use of saffron 
in sweetmeats and broth." Saffron is now but little used 
anywhere in human food to please the eye, to tickle the 
palate, or to strengthen the stomach ; and in England it 
has been so completely ousted by curry that what once 
rejoiced the heart of man is now only sprinkled in water 
to cheer the melancholy of canaries. 

Compare the saffron with the bean. At one time it was 
worse than parricide to eat beans ; and beans are now in 
great repute. At one time it was a superstition to flavour 
and colour food with saffron ; and now it is a farce. So 
the wheel goes round, and high becomes low and low 
becomes high. Let us be thankful that one thing will last 
while man lasts — ^the saffron-coloured morn. 

Sage and Onion Sauce. — See Forcemeat No. 6. 

Sago. — ^AU the starches to which sago belongs are 
much overrated as articles of diet. They are easily digested 
— that is the best which can be said of them; and they are 
useful in giving body to soups and puddings. They do not 
contain much nourishment, and sago is certainly one of the 
most insipid of the series. 

Salad.* — Sydney Smith wrote a neat little poem to 
describe how salad should be prepared, and he promised 
that if his directions were followed — 

Then, though green turtle fail, though veiUBon*s tough, 
And ham and turkey are not boiled enough, 
Serenely full, the epicure may say. 
Fate cannot harm me — I have dined to-day. 

There spoke the perfect epicure ; and the speech goes to 

* The substance of this Article has already appeared in print. 



Salad 391 

prove that the supremacj of enjoyment is based on sim- 
plicity of taste. There may be epicures who like to titillate 
their jaded appetites and acquired tastes with unheard-of 
luxuries and far-fetched combinations; but the world has 
long since recognised that all the best and healthiest 
pleasures keep well within bounds, and must never lose 
sight of moderation. Every art has its monstrosities ; 
gastronomy has not been behindhand; and though he must 
be a bold man who will venture to blaspheme the elegancies 
of French cookery, there comes a time to every English- 
man who may have wandered into a mistaken admiration 
of sophisticated messes, when he longs for the simple diet 
of his native land, and vows that the best cookery in the 
world, and that which satisfies the most refined epicure- 
anism, sets up for its ideal — plainness of good food, and the 
cultivation of natural tastes. Now a salad is simplicity 
itself;^ and here is a marvel — it is the crowning grace of a 
French dinner, while, on the other hand, it is little imder- 
stood and villanously treated at English tables. To that 
system of cookery which prides itself on its art it gives the 
charm of nature, and in the midst of the triumphs of gas- 
tronomy it raises a fine protest in favour of simplicity. In 
our own system of cookery, which boasts of its naturalness, 
and which therefore ought to hold the salad in highest 
honour, it occupies but an inferior place, and is nearly 
always spoilt. In respect of salads, therefore, the French 
and Italians have beaten us in our own line. We swear by 
plain cookery; we turn up our noses at elaborate sauces; 
we profess to eschew messes, and to care only for simples; 
and yet we have no idea, like the French and Italians, how 
to turn to splendid account a dinner of herbs. There is 
a proverb which identifies such a dinner with meanness 
of &re ; but it is not mean. It is quite certain that the 
majority of epicures agree with Sydney Smith that a really 
good salad will glorify any dinner, and make up for the 
lack of turtle and venison and the rarest dainties. 



392 Salad 

The fact ia that a salad is more than food, and we are 
attracted to it by more than hanger. I am not enough of 
a chemist to go into details; bat here are two facts which 
explain a good deaL One is that the most important herb 
osed in salads^ the lettaoe^ abonnds in a joice which has not 
onlj the effect of opiom, bat where opiom woold be hortfol 
takes the place of it in pharmacj. The other is that the 
plant of next importance for salads, the endiva or chicory^ 
is largely used in its root as a sabstitute for coffee. These 
and like facts point to the conclusion that salads have an 
attraction for us over and aboye that of palatable food — 
an attraction which has its parallel in a man's craving for 
the tobacco-leafy in a woman's craving for the tea-leaf, and 
in the passion whidi drives a Chinese to the poppyhead* 
In other words, a salad is not merely food, bat has also an 
action on the nervous system, stimulating or sedative, 
which is immensely agreeable and acts like a spell. What- 
ever be the nature of the charm it is a powerful one, and 
renders the salad a sort of prince incognito among the 
assemblage ^ dishes. It has an undefinable rank on the 
table, which makes it more important than it seems. 
Without it, in the eyes of the epicure, the finest dinner 
has failed of its supreme relish ; and to a very common- 
place dinner it gives an ethereal grace. 

Any one who dips into the works of the old herbalists will 
be astonished to see how they insist upon the virtues of the 
salad plants. Many of these virtues are no doubt imaginary, 
but some are real enough. Thus the herbalists praised 
endive as a cure for the gout. We have forgotten all about 
this, and are content to find the refreshment of coffee in 
the root, the refreshment of a salad in the leaves. Here 
and there the old theory survives. I remember hearing a 
physician say to a patient who was much too apt at blue* 
pill, '^ That is ruin, I will tell you what to do. Eat a 
parboiled cauliflower three times a week by way of salad, 
and be sure you eat the bitter stalks as well as the flower. 



Salad 393 

It is the best medicine in the world." As for lettuce, it is 
recommended by Galen as a soporific, and the prepared 
juice, lactucarinm^ is to be found in every chemist's shop. 
The old herbalists, however, had another theory. They 
said that the lettuce was- not only soothing like opium, but 
had the supreme virtue of enabling us to forget womankind. 
It was the salad of all others for monks and nuns to eat, 
for it has a hallowing influence that makes one oblivious of 
love and all its fever. Lest the romantic lover should on 
this account refuse lettuce, let me remind him that tobacco 
— ^which is not indeed a salad, but belongs to the order of 
nightshades, that has yielded several salad-plants, such as 
the potato and the tomato— was supposed to have a like 
effect; and there is a vulgar opinion that Sir Isaac Newton 
never married because he smoked too much. According 
to the same old theory, these i» no love-potion so efficacious 
as an onion. Would you win a woman's love — give her 
onions to eat, whatever the consequences. The French, 
too, have a provecb, that if a wife only knew what a loving 
charm there is in celery, she would send to Rome for it 
every day to provide a salad for her husband. If one 
must, however, have a losire-charm, there is the tomato, the 
old English name of which is love-apple. This reminds 
me of an odd omission in the story of the loves of Mr. 
Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell. Dickens nowhere explains 
how it came to pass that when his hero- ordered tomato- 
sauce with his mutton-chops, the sensitive soul of Mrs. 
Bardell took this for a proposal of marriage and. the voice 
of love. There is not a hint even in the speech of Serjeant 
Buzfuz that the tomato is the love-apple, and that the sauce 
which Mr. Pickwick ordered was love-apple sauce. There 
is, no doubt, a great deal of fancy in all this. We expect 
certain effects, and they are produced by the association of 
ideas. But there is this always to go upon — that most of 
the salad-plants have an exhilarating effect, a distinct action 
upon the nervous system, and through the nerves upon the 



394 Salad 

spiritual part of us^ till at last people exalt the preparation 
of a salad into a religion^ and become fanatical about its 
rites and ceremonies. 

If Sydney Smith be right, and if the enjoyment of a salad 
be the height of epicureanism, one would imagine that so 
simple a taste might be easily gratified. It is a delicacy 
which the poorest of ns ought always to command. No 
cooking is required. Give us a salad-bowl; give us a few 
raw herbs, and some common condiments, and there ia a 
pleasant repast assured, even if there is nothing to add to 
it but cold meat. And yet in this England of ours it is 
difficult to get a good salad — in an English eating-house 
almost impossible. We have lots of vegetables, with every 
variety of lettuce and of endive. But in the first place it 
is a tradition of the English kitchen that salads must be 
washed and kept in water until ready for use ; the conse- 
quence is that they lose much of their flavour; they become 
more watery than they are by nature; and after the salad 
is devoured one can often see a little pool of water at the 
bottom of the salad-bowl which the green leaves have not 
been able to absorb. The tradition of the French kitchen 
is that no salad must be washed or see the water except the 
com salad, which is sometimes called lamb's lettuce. Bat 
it may be said that a salad requires to be cleaned, and hence 
the need of water. Of course it requires cleaning ; but the 
French method is to pick the leaves and to clean every 
separate one with a dry napkin. This is the reason of the 
difference between the French mode of serving a salad and 
ours. In an English house one often sees a lettuce sent 
up to table whole ; it has been washed whole, and it can be 
served whole. And when English people see a French salad 
served, the leaves all severed and sometimes cut, they fancy 
that this is a mere matter of convenience, the cook saving 
us trouble. It is not so, but a necessary result of the 
French process of cleanidg the salad. 

It is not enough, however, to get the herbs in perfection; 



Salad 395 

. _ . _ 1 - - - - -  - - - ^ 

there comes next a great question about the appropriate 
mixture to go with them. There are numbers of English 
who think that no mixture is necessary, and who limit their 
fancy to the cos-lettuce, which they pluck leaf by leaf, and 
eat with a little salt. It is no wonder that they fail to 
appreciate the salad, and rob it of the importance which it 
ought to attain at a well-appointed table, when they do not 
know, or do not care for, the art of educing its finer 
qualities, and making of the simplest dish in the world a 
feast worthy of Olympus. Some people take to eating a 
salad in this crude way because of a vague theory that it 
is good for the blood ; and others avoid it because of some 
theory that so much " green meat " cannot agree with them, 
The one set never acquire the true gusto for salad, and the 
other have a continual suspicion of it. Now these are 
the only two classes for which the Englii^ eating-house 
keeper thinks it worth his while to cater. It is a matter of 
hard fact that a salad-bowl is a thing unknown in 999 out 
of 1000 eating-houses in England. In private houses and 
in clubs of course it is to be found, because English gentle- 
men of the class who belong to clubs know that a salad to 
be enjoyed must be mixed, and that it cannot be properly 
mixed without a good-sized bowl. But let us go into one 
of Spiers and Pond's establishments^ — ^aad in singling them 
out I pay them a oompliment. They are at the head of 
their profession, they have deserved well of the public, and 
if they fail in any point we may be sure that the failure 
belongs not to them individually, but to the English sys- 
tem. I have not been to all their establishments, but in 
those I ha^« visted this is what I find. They keep an 
immense bowl on the buffet, crammed with a confusion of 
salad-herbs soaking in water. Tou ask for a salad. The 
waiter brings you a wet lettuce cut in halves upon a 
flat plate, and he puts down beside it an annulated bottle, 
full of the abominable compound known as salad-mixturei 
You politely hint to the waiter, first of all, that you prefer 



39^ Salad 

not to touch hi» prepared mixture. He takes it a^K^ji 
wounded in his feelings^ and assumes that you are going 
to eat the lettuce with salt. You next make a demand for 
oil and yinegar, and. try to explain that a salad to be pro* 
perly mixed must, according to the saying^ be mixed by a 
madman ; it cannot, therefore, be mixed on. a flat plate. 
The waiter then brings a soup-plate ; if you are not satisfied 
with that he brings a vegetable-dish, then perhaps a slop-* 
basin ; and if you are still discontented, he tries you las 
of all with a soup-tureen. As for a salad-bowl — ^which one 
can get at once in the* paltriest Erench restaurant — it is 
not, as a rule, to be found int the splendidly iuiaiished 
establishments of Spiers and. Pond. This simply means 
that a salad properly ps^pared does not belong to the 
English system of the table, and does not enter into the 
calculations of those who cater for it in public. I some* 
times at English inns manage to get a salad-bowl by asking 
for a punch-bowl. Mine host is nearly, always prepared to 
make punch, though he does not know what a salad is» 

When the Englishman, still more the Englishwoman^ 
determines that a salad is not tabe eaten, with salt alone, 
but must be bathed in some mixture, one discovers a 
curious weakness in the national taste, — ^a chariness of oil, 
and love of vinegar. An., odd proof of this is to be found 
in the scientific nomenclature of the gardeners. Like all 
sciolists, they are fond of inventing new names. They are 
not content to call salad-plants, as> of old, salad-plants, — 
that is, plants to be eaten, with salt ; they have invented 
the name of acetarious plants, — that is, plants to be eaten 
with vinegar. There is the true English idea — ^a salad is 
the infancy of mixed pickles. We have a besotted love of 
pickles in England, and never seem to understand that 
vinegar in a salad must be doled out with a niggardly 
hand. As for oil, little of it is used, and that little is often 
overwhelmed with cream, with yolk of egg, with mustard, 
with sugar, — ^^a succession of incongruous expedients to 



Sabd 397 

conceal the oil or to take the place of it. All this messing 
is death to the salad and to the true taste of the green 
herb. Abont salad-oil two points are worthy of notice? 
though it is necessary ta insist only on <nie. The first is? 
that it is the most simple and digestible form in which 
oleaginous matter can be presented to the stomach? and 
that it has a medical value in its combination with raw 
herbs. English people would not be so timid of what 
they call '^ green meat " if they could bring themselves to 
swallow it saturated with oil. But here is the chief point : 
the oil is not oiily good and wholesome in itself, but it 
catches up and preserves in a remarkable manner the 
subtle flavour of the salad. There are certain oils and 
fatty substances which have a peculiar affinity for odours ; 
and it is well known that those chemists who make it 
their business to prepare scents from rose-leaves, jasmine, 
lavender, and other flowers, make use of these oils and 
fats for storing up the perfumes, with which they become 
quickly impregnated. One can see what-oU as a custodian , 
of flavour in rivalry with vinegar is if one can remember 
the taste of a sardine. See how delicate the flavour is 
preserved in oil, and imagine how it would be lost in brino 
— or English pickle. It is the glory of the Lucca oil that 
it acts in this way upon the salad, bringing out and pre-« 
serving its delicacy of flavour ; which, on the other hand, 
is dissipated in water, and overpowered in a mess of cream 
and egg, syrup and mustard. Be a counsellor with the 
salt, is the old saying ; be a miser with the vinegar ; but 
be a spendthrift with the oil. And we English would be 
happier with our salads if we could learn to put up with 
the beautiful oil of Lucca and to forego the astonishing 
combinations (sometimes including anchovy sauce and 
mushroom ketchup) with which we disguise our green 
herbs, till, in opposition to the accepted principles of 
English cookerj', they are irrecognisable. The best 
salad mixtures will be found described in the preceding 



398 Salad 

pages, under the names of Cruet Sauce, Mayonnaise, and 
Bemoulade. 

As for the herbs to be used in salad, w& are in England 
rather limited in our tastes. Of the infinite variety of 
salads which can be made from wild plants-^the salad 
bnmet, the ladies' smock, the stonecrop, the sea bindweed, 
the sweet Cicely, the buckshom plantain, and the ox-eyed 
daisy — our people know next to nothing, and they allow 
quantities of excellent food to be wasted on the cattle. 
The dandelion, which is a favourite salad in France, and a 
herb renowned for its virtues, we should be half ashamed 
to see on our tables. Nothing will do for us in England 
but the most highly-cultivated kinds. First of all, there is 
the lettuce, which is of two sorts — ^the cabbage-lettuce, 
known in France as the laitv^ pommde^ and the cos-lettuce, 
which the French term the laUue romaine. Of these — and 
there are endless varieties ef either — ^we seem in England 
to prefer the latter, with its long leaves, because it can be 
eaten by itself ; while the French probably care more for 
the former. Then comes the endive in three classes : first, 
the broad-leaved or Batavian endive, which the French call 
escarole — a prime favourite ; next^the curly-leaved endive, 
which the French call sometimes ckicor^ and sometimes 
laitue frisSe ; lastly, the wild endive or succory (succory 
being but the old English word for chicory), which is 
called by the French barbe de capucin^ and whose roots are 
supposed to make a very &ir imitation of cofiee. Perhaps 
next in order of rank deserves to be mentioned celery; 
but we only use the bare stalk, whereas the French will 
put the whole plant into the salad-bowl, from the root at 
one end to the leafage at the other. Even better than the 
celery is the oeleriac, — ^that is, a celery with turnip-like 
root, which is the celeri-rave of the French and the knott-- 
9ellerie of the G-ermans. The latter are especially fond of 
it, and go into ecstasies with moist eyes and flowing mouth 
when they talk of it. In England, although it may be 



Salad 399 

cultivated with greater ease and at less expense than the 
common celery, it is not only slighted, but few persons 
know where they can lay their hands upon it. Let it here 
therefore be recorded that the celeriac roots come over to 
this country from Germany in the end of October, and are 
to be had in any quantity at a house which abounds in 
foreign dainties of all sorts-^Lingner's Delicatessen Hand- 
lung, 46, Old Compton Street, Soho, with its branch at 
30, Fenchurch Street, City. Another salad which is too 
much neglected in England is that o£ tomatos. The 
wonder is how any one who knows what a superb thing is 
a salad of raw tomatos can care to desecrate this glorious 
apple by cooking it. I should weary the reader if I went 
on to sound the praises of the mustard and cress salad, the 
com salad, the beetroot salad, the potato salad, and the 
scdade de Ugumes. One word, however, about the last two. 
Most persons are acquainted with Sydney Smith's receipt 
for a potato salad — 

Tv^o large potatoes, passed through kitdien sieve. 

Unwonted softness to the salad give ; 

Of mordant mustard, add a single spoon, 

Distrust the condiment which bites too soon ; 

But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a faulty 

To add a double quantity of salt ; 

Three times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown, 

And once with vinegar, procured from town ; 

True flavom: needs it, and your poet begs 

The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs ; 

Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl. 

And, scarce suspected, animate the whole ; 

And lastly, in the flavoured compound toss 

A magic teaspoon of anchovy sauce : 

Then, though green turtle fail, though venison's tough, 

And ham and turkey are not boiled enough. 

Serenely full, the epicure may say. 

Fate cannot harm me — ^I have dined to-day. 

This appears to have been the receipt which he finally 



400 Salad 

sanctioned ; but in hiis memoirs there is a different 
edition, which contains four lines that ought not to be 
fororotten — 

Oh, green and glorious ! oh, herbaoeoua treat ! 
Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat ; 
Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul. 
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl ! 

It should be noted, however, that the receipt furnished by 
the witty canon is not for a salad, but for a salad dressings 
— it is for a mixture which is to give "unwonted softness 
to the salad." A true potato salad is not passed through a 
sieve ; it is made of cold boiled kidney potatoes — what the 
French call Yitelotte — cut in slices. Of all the cooked 
salads, however, that which Qie French call the salade de 
Mffumes will always have the pre-eminence. It is exceed* 
ingly difficult to get in England — even at a Pall Mall club 
one has to order it the day beforehand ; yet at the paltriest 
French restaurant in London or in Paris it can be had at 
a few minutes' notice. It is nothing but a cold Macedon, 
aqd the best English name for it would be a salad of 
Macedon. 

It is not enough to provide the salad and the salad 
dressing : there is one thing more to be attended to — ^what 
the French call foumiture, what we may call garnish or 
garniture. This is a sprinkling of chopped herbs which, 
when cunningly selected and applied, give a gaiety and 
sparkle to the eomposition of the salad. For a salad of 
lettuce, be it round or long, the usual garniture is a 
ravigote, — that is, chopped tarragon, chervil, bumet, and 
chives. When the curly endive comes in, and we ask for 
a salad of it in any French restaurant, the waiter, if he 
knows his business, will at onee ask, " Avec on sans?" 
which means. Will you have it with or without a chapan ? 
— that is, a crust of bread on which a clove of garlic has 
been rubbed. This crust of bread is. mixed with the endive 
salad, gives it its bouquet, and forms its garniture* What 



Salad 401 

shall be the gamitnre of anj salad depends much on place 
and season. There are two sets of herbs used — one of the 
aromatic sort^ such as tarragon, bumet, chervil, sometimes 
even parsley; the other, the onion tribe, from garlic, which 
we in England abhor, down to the more delicate varieties, 
spring onions, shalots and chives. There are some persons 
who set their faces against the most bashfiil and refined of 
otiions-— even against chives. What is the use of saying, as 
some fanatics about salad do, that to them a salad is impos- 
sible? The garniture must be taken as we like it or as we 
find it. Early in the year, when the cabbage-lettuce comes 
in, there is no tarragon or chervil, and we must be content 
with spring onions and shalots ; if these are objectionable 
we fall back on tarragon vinegar to mix with the oil. When 
the cos-lettuce appears, we have tarragon and vinegar in 
perfection, and with it the most innocent of the onion race 
— chives. When the curly endive comes in, the French, 
as above said, forego tarragon, sometimes retain the chervil, 
but revel in the odour of garlic. In a week or two, when 
the Batavian endive — ^the eBcarole — is ready, they will re- 
turn to the garniture used for the cos-lettuce. 

It is necessary to conclude, and I conclude with a lament, 
lliere are salads in abundance, and with a little trouble we 
can have them in perfection. But all modern salads want 
the finishing touch which made them most exquisite in 
days of old. Our modem manners forbid that touch, for 
it was found to be not always convenient. In bygone 
times the fairest and the youngest lady at the table was 
expected to mix the salad with her fingers. This was 
enchanting when the lady was in the heyday of beauty and 
there were men who would be too pleased to drink cham- 
pagne out of her slipper. The fashion, however, had its 
inconveniences ; it has passed away, and it survives only 
in the phrase, Retoumer la salade avec les doiffts, which is 
a way the French have of describing a lady to be still 
young and beautiful. 

26 



402 Sally Lunn 



Sallt Litkn is an honoured name from the Land's End 
to John o' Groat's. But why should the reader be called 
upon to meditate upon her virtues in these pages, in which 
so little has been said about the Bath bun, the Banbur j 
cake, the Scotch shortbread, the Brioche, the Baba, the 
Savarin, the Gtiuffre, and many another noble thing? 
The reason is that her name has been mixed up with a 
little culinary scandal ; and it is necessary to vindicate her 
fair &me. The greatest cook of modem times, CarSme, 
came over to England to minister to the palate of the 
Prince Regent. He did not stay long, but he stayed long 
enough to appreciate the charms of Sally Lunn and her 
ever memorable cake. He was a great cook, but a fearful 
coxcomb — ^an immeasurable egotist. If ever he made the 
slightest change in a dish, he vaunted the variation as an 
original idea, and thenceforward set up as the sovereign 
creator of the dainty. So it was that he dressed up Sally 
Lunn a little, and presented her to the Parisian world as 
his own — ^his Solilemne. The fact might well be forgotten, 
but there are stupid asses who will not let us forget it 
They come over to England ; they send up, among the 
sweets of a dinner, Sally and her teacake, rigged out in the 
height of French fashion ; and like an English dancer or 
singer who insists on Mademoiselle to her name, the good 
honest Sally that we know is announced as the incom- 
parable Solilemne. 

Salmi. — ^As to the meaning of the word some informa- 
tion will be found in the article on Gallimaw&ay. It 
means a highly sauced preparation (sal) of some bird (mi). 
Salmagundi — in French salmigondis — ^is the same thing, 
with the additional indication that the bird, mi or ma, is 
pounded, or in the language of our ancient cookery ^^ smitten 
to gobbets/' The ordinary salmi admits of many varia- 
tions, according to the nature of the bird, which is first 
roasted, then allowed to get cold, then carved, then heated 



Salmi 403 

up in what oar ancestors intended by the syllable sal-, — ^a 
salmi sauce. The inside and the trimmings of the roast 
game are chopped up and put into a stewpan, with a bay- 
leaf and a sprig of thyme, to be fried in a tablespoonf ul of 
salad oil. Add to them afterwards a glass of French wine 
(white or red), with half a pint of brown sauce, and simmer 
them for ten minutes. Skim off the grease, strain the 
sauce, heat up the pieces of game in it, and serve. 

The Bemardin Salmi has a little of the pungency which 
in England would procure for it the name of a devil ; but 
it is a mild devil, and a wet one too. The receipt takes 
its name from the circumstance that it was given to Qrimod 
de la Eeynifere by the prior of an abbey of Bemardins, 
who made him promise that he would never attempt to put 
it into practice at any table within twenty leagues of the 
Abbey of Haute-Seille. The salmi, it should be understood, 
is not prepared in the kitchen, but at table, before the eyes 
of the assembled guests, which proves its simplicity ; but 
as this might also excite the contempt of the reader, G-rimod 
de la Beyni^re adds the wise caution that care must be 
taken to serve the salmi on its passage to the mouth with 
a fork, for fear of devouring one's fingers in case they 
should touch the sauce. Take three woodcocks ; — ^the sys- 
tem is applicable to other birds, such as ducks (wild or 
tame), widgeons, teal, plovers, partridges, and even beyond 
winged game to the melancholy hare; but the woodcocks 
will do for an example. Let them be roasted ; let them 
come to table underdone ; and let them be carved. Take 
a silver dish, and on this bruise the livers and trails of the 
woodcocks ; squeeze on them the juice of four lemons and 
grate the zest of one ; add the members of the woodcocks, 
seasoned with salt, with mixed spices (or with nutmeg 
instead), and with two spoonfuls of French mustard ; pour 
over all half a glass of very good white wine; and then 
put the dish on a spirit*lamp, to become very hot, but without 
boiling. When it is near to boil, add a dash of salad oil, 



404 Salman 

lower the flame, and stir the salmi well until all the flavours 
are harmonionsly blended. It is to be noted that in this 
salmi there is no gravy; and if the quantity of lemon seem 
too much, it must be remembered that when woodcocks 
come in, lemons are small; and their juice scanty. 

Salmon. — There is a myth that salmon was once so 
common that in the indentures of apprenticeship in New- 
castie, Perth, and other towns^ it was wont to insert a 
stipulation that the apprentice should not be obliged to eat 
of this fish for dinner more than thrice a week. Now 
the said apprentice never sees it at table ; and to prevent 
the utter extermination of the king of fresh-water fish, it has 
been found necessary to establish a close time during the 
spawning season, when he and his queen shall not be hunted 
to death. Nevertheless, salmon is to be had in London 
during a considerable portion of the closed season — but they 
are salmon from the Rhine. Thei)est salmon known in Eng- 
land (and best chiefly because the freshest) is that caught 
in the Severn and in the Scotch rivers. The sooner a 
salmon can be cooked after it has been killed, the better ; 
and there is no comparison in flavour between a salmon 
cooked on the day it has been caught, and one cooked in 
London three or four days afterwards. It is quite possible 
to get an a London dinner-table in the evening salmon 
which has been disporting in a Scotch river early in the 
morning. Apply at Groves', or any first-rate fishmonger's. 
The salmon will be killed in the Tweed at three or four in 
the morning ; it will be instantly crimped and parboiled, 
and it will be in Bond Street by five or six in the evening. 

Boiled Salmon. — ^Whether whole, in parts, or in slices, 
the salmon is to be boiled like other fish, beginning with 
cold water and salt. It must be thoroughly well done, 
tiioroughly well drained, and served on a napkin. It is 
common enough in England to take lobster sauce with it — 
but this is much too heavy for so rich a fish. Better take 



Sainton 405 

shrimp sauce, Batch sauce, caper sauce, or B^rnaise. 
Garnish of sliced cucumbers. 

Crimped Salmon — The best boiled salmon is crimped, 
with the object of keeping perfect what is called the cream 
or curd of the fish lying between the flakes. The process 
is described as follows, by Sir Humphrey Davy, in his book 
on salmon fishing: — "We must now prepare him for the 
pot. Give him a stunning blow on the head to deprive 
him of sensation, and then give him a transverse cut just 
below the gills, and crimp him by cutting to the bone on 
each side, so as almost to divide him into slices, and now 
hold him by the tail that he may bleed. There is a small 
spring, I see, close under that bank, whicE^ I daresay, has 
the mean temperature of the atmosphere in this climate, 
and is much under 50**. Place him there, and let him 
remain for ten minutes, and then carry him to the pot, and 
let the water and salt boil furiously before you put in a 
slice, and give time to the water to recover its heat before 
you throw in another, and so with the whole fish, and 
leave the head out, and throw in the thickest pieces first." 
The process, it will be observed, consists of three stages: 
first, transverse cutting to the bone; second, plunging into 
very cold water; third, plunging into boiling water. With- 
out this process being performed soon after the fish is killed, 
the cream turns to oil. 

Salmon Waterzootje, — This is but boiled pieces of salmon 
served after a particular method: which see. 

Grilled Salmon. — Rubbed slightly with salad oil, 
sprinkled with pepper and salt, and served either with a 
piece of maitre d^hdtel butter or with Tartar sauce. 

Salmon h la G^nevoise is either plain boiled or it is 
stewed in a Mirepoix of white wine, and served with 
Genevese sauce. 

Salmon Pie. — Flakes of salmon laid in a pie-dish in 
alternate layers, with forcemeat of whiting (see QueneUe), 



4o6 Salpicon 

Beasoned with spioed salt, moistened with fish broth, ooyered 
with a paste, sent to the oven, and eaten odd. 

Salmon Omelet. — Hot fiakes of salmon mixed with 
AUemande sance, and put into the omelet before folding it 
np. 

Aspic of Salmon, — Flakes of salmon mixed with liquid 
aspic, and left to get cold and stiff. 

Kippered Salmon. — The kippering of salmon is a mystery 
which must be left to experts. The kipper which comes to 
London is so well kippered that few can afford to eat 
more than a very thin slice of it grilled with exceeding 
swiftness. There are few dainties for breakfast, howeyer, 
more delicious and more harmless than salmon which is 
but slightly kippered — tliat is, salmon which, being per* 
fectly fresh, has undergone the kippering for not more 
than two or three days. Rub it with a little butter, and 
grill it in any quantity. This is one of the glories of a 
Highland breakfast, and it is to the stomach of a Scotch 
baillie what turtle is to a London alderman. 

Pickled or Soused Salmon, — Boil a salmon and split it. 
Take a quart of the liquor in which it has boiled ; add 
to it half an ounce of peppercorns and pimento whole, 
half a pint of vinegar, a teaspoonfnl of salt, a couple of 
bayleaves, and a sprig of lemon-thyme; and boil them 
together. When cold, pour it over the salmon and cover 
it up. The fish will keep good in this for several days. 
To strengthen the pickle, boil it afresh with more vinegar 
and spice. 

Salpicon. — ^A fine mince of chicken or of game, with 
tongue, mushrooms, truffles, and now and then foie gras. 

Salt tells for so much at table that it has not only a 
name by itself, but it reappears in the names of sauce, 
sausage, salmi, and salad. What would our food be with- 
out salt, sauce, sausage, salmi, and salad ? Extending the 



Salt 407 

use of the term beyond chloride of Bodi«m to salts in 
general, Bernard Palissy (translated by Henry Morley) 
has an eloquent passage, mixed with some considerable 
errors, on its importance in the economy of nature. '^ I 
tell you/' he says, speaking of salts, '' iJiere is so great a 
number of them that it is impossible for any man to name 
them all ; and tell you farther, that there is nothing in this 
world which has no salt in it, whether it be in man, the 
beast, the trees, plants, or other vegetative things, or even 
in the very metals ; and tell you yet more, that no vegeta- 
tive things could grow without the action of salt which is 
in seeds ; what is more, if salt were taken from the body 
of a man he would fall to powder in less than the winking 
of an eye. If the salt were separated from the stones that 
are in buildings, they would fell suddenly to powder. . . . 
Salt bleaches everything ; salt hardens everything ; it 
preserves everything ; it gives savour to everything ; it 
is a mastic which binds everything ; it collects and unites 
mineral matters, and of many thousand pieces makes one 
mass. Salt gives sound to everything : without salt no 
metal would yield a voice. Salt rejoices human beings ; 
it whitens the flesh, giving beauty to reasonable creatures ; 
it preserves friendship between the male and female by the 
vigour given to the sexes ; it gives voice to creatures, as 
to metals." 

" The experiments of Boussingault on animals " — to 
quote Dr. Letheby — '^ have shown that although salt mixed 
with the fodder does not much affect the quantity of flesh, 
fat, or milk obtained from them, yet it seriously affects their 
appearance and general condition ; for animals deprived of 
salt, other than that contained naturally in the food, soon 
get heavy and dull in their temperament, and have a rough 
and staring coat. Beulin states that animals which do not 
find \i in their food and drink become less prolific, and the 
breed rapidly diminishes in number. This is confirmed by 
Dr. Le Saine, who says in his prize essay on salt, that it 



J 



4o8 Sandwich 



increases the fertility of the male and the fecundity of the 
female, and it doubles the power of nourishing the foetus. 
During the period of suckling, also, salt given to th^ 
mother renders the milk more abundant and more nutri- 
tious. It likewise accelerates growth, and gives a finer 
condition to the skin ; and the flesh of animals fed with it 
is better flavoured, and more easUv digested than that of 
animals which do not partake of it. In barbarous times 
the most horrible of punishments, entaiUng certain death, 
was the feeding of culprits on food without salt ; and in 
the experiments of the French Academicians, flesh deprived 
of its saline constituents by being washed with water lost 
its nutritive power, and animals fed on it soon died of 
starvation. . . . There was plenty of nutritious matter in 
the food, but there was no medium for its solution and 
absorption, and henoe it was useless.'' 

Lastly, it would be ungrateful to forget that the 
chloride of sodium is all the world over the most venerated 
article of diet — the synonym of wit and of hospitality. 
The saints are the salt of the earth. It is a fact, more* 
over^ which rests on the excellent authority of medi- 
aeval doctors, that the devil never takes any salt in his 
meat. They gave as a reason for this that salt is an 
emblem of eternity and used by the divine command in 
sacrifices. They seem to have overlooked the fact that to 
be obliged to forego salt is a terrible punishment 

Sandwich. — See how a man becomes immortal by his 
good taste 1 Who would have remembered the Earl of 
Sandwich if he had not brought the sandwich into vogue 
in the last century? The gratitude of mankind has for 
ever, and all over the habitable globe, honoured it with his 
name. Nothing can be more simple. But the sandwich 
is capable of infinite variety, and we ought not to make it 
monotonous by confining it to beef and ham. It may be 
made of fowl, game, fish, and eggs, not forgetting plovers' 



Sauce 409 

eggs. How is it that these more delicate varieties of the 
sandwich are so seldom to be seen at balls and suppers 
among those cold collations where everything else is 
choice and even curious? Why not vary the sandwich, 
too, by using crust of bread, toast, or brown bread ? An 
admirable addition to the sandwich in summer is mustard 
and cress, or a lettuce finely shred ; in winter some thin 
slices of pickled gherkin. Francatelli deserves great credit 
for inventing what he calls the Badminton sandwich, which 
is made as follows : — Cut slices of toast, and immediately 
on taking them from the fire split them with a sharp knife. 
Spread the inner sides with anchovy butter, and put fillets 
of anchovy between. This is in fact a sort of anchovy 
toast to be eaten cold. 

Sardine. — It is a question whether there is any dif- 
ference between the sardine of the Mediterranean and 
the pilchard which abounds in the English Channel and 
on the Cornish coast — both being a species of herring. 
The preservation of this fish in oil ought to be a lesson 
to Englishmen, who are much too- fond of a briny pickle 
for preserving their fish in tins. Note how wonderfully 
the flavour of the sardine is preserved and even height- 
ened, and ask why we cannot do as much for salmon. See 
Pilchard. 

Sauce — Theory of the Sauces. — The saying of 
Brillat-Savarin, that a cook can be made but that a 
roaster must be bom, is well known. It is not sa well 
known that his^ friend, the Marquis de Cussy, asked him 
to revise this aphorism, and that before his death he did 
revise it. We in England are more than all inclined to 
call it in question ; for we find among us a scarcity of 
good cooks and yet an abundance of good roasters. 
Probably the best of French cooks cannot roast so well as 
any Meg or Moll in a homely farmstead, or the trencher- 



4IO Satice 

man of a regimental mess. After long and amdoas dis- 
cassions with his friend De Cussy, the great gastronomer 
agreed to remodel his aphorism^ and to say — " On devient 
caisinier^ on devient r&tissear, on nait saucier " : Cooking 
and roasting are things to teach; it needs genias to make a 
sance. We may overwhelm the chemist of sauces with 
rules and receipts ; they are of little use without a natural 
gift. To make a perfect sauce is indeed the height of 
culinary art ; but before the reader comes to the end of 
this article he will be constrained to admit that tiie 
saucemaker owes^ in a sense of which Brillat-Savarin had 
no conception^ more than half of his success to a subtle 
skill in roasting which no ordinary cook ever possesses^ 
and which invests with a new and unexpected meaning the 
celebrated aphorism in its original form. 

The language of the Engli^ table suggests a distinction 
between saaces and gravies; andlluiveinmj timelisJened 
to many curious discussions as to what is and what is not 
a sauce^ what is and what is not a gravy. In common 
parlance, and in the chief dictionaries, gravy always means 
the juices of roasted meat ; in the kitchen and in the 
cookery books it has been found necessary to extend its 
meaning to the juice of meat however obtained, whether 
from roasting or decoction. The word sauce, in its origin, 
is a doublet of salt ; in its modem use it nearly always 
implies a liquid ; and it may be defined in the most general 
terms as any liquid seasoning employed in the presentation 
of food. Gravy, or the juice of meat; is always a sauce, 
although a sauce is not always gravy. On the other hand, 
the great sauces, as they are called in France, have gravy 
for their foundation — this too in its most concentrated 
form ; and it would be more distinctive to call them, at 
least in England, gravies. 

The French have two leading sauces — a brown and a 
white one — which are the Adam and Eve of all their other 
preparations and reductions of gravy. We need not at 



Sauce 411 

this point stay to inquire how the juices of meat are 
obtained so as to make the one brown and the other white : 
it must be enough to say that the one is called Espagnole 
or Spanish sauce, the other Velout^ or Velvet-down ; and 
to dwell for a moment on this odd &ct— that whereas in 
cookery a brown sauce is used about three times as often 
as a white one^ the French cooks recognise only one form 
of Ihe mow frequent sauce, and as many as thiee forms of 
the less frequent. Brown sauce is always what they are 
pleased to call Spanish ; and white sauce, or Yelvet-down^ 
has two variations, which are Imown as Bechamel and 
AHemaode or German. If it is curious that of the four 
parent sauces or gravies of the French kitchen there should 
be but a single brown to three white ones, it is still more so, 
when we consider it closely, that the one brown sauce should 
be called Spanish. The fiEUst is, that the traditions of the 
French kitchen have been muddled and forgotten. Spanish 
was originally but a variation of an older brown sauce 
which flourished in France long before Spanish tastes 
began to prevail, and which was afterwards forgotten,— 
much as if, among the white sauces, Bechamel should 
survive, and Velvet-down, from which it springs, should be 
heard of no more. 

Let us ask — for everjrthing turns on this — ^why is the 
sauce called Spanish? There are people who imagme that 
it means no more than brown. There is a hue which goes 
by the name of Spanish brown : the great Spanish painter, 
Murillo, loved it well, and made it by roasting the bones 
which his countrymen boiled down in their stews. Spanish 
sauces, Spanish pictures, Spanish wines, Spanish faces, all 
seemed to have a tawny hue ; and was it not natural, 
therefore, of the French cooks to pay a compliment to 
the Spanish alliance by dubbing their chief brown sauce 
a Spaniard ? It is not necessary to run away from this 
view ; it is natural ; but it is not enough. People do 
not change the name of an established preparation with- 



412 Sauu 

out at the same time making a change, however trivial, 
in its character ; and it is not to be supposed that the 
French cooks would change the name of anything so 
important as their chief brown sauce — La Grande Sauce — 
without some novelty in iks nature. The novelty was this. 
The French brown sauce was originally worked out of the 
French pot-au^feu (though not in the same manner as 
bouillon) ; and to this day there are popular cookery books 
— ^that of Gogn^, published by ELachette^ is one — which, 
although calling the sauce indifferently brown or Spanish, 
give a receipt for the preparation of its elementary juice 
or gravy which is nothing more than the ordinary contents 
of the best beef broth worked down towards a glaze^ 
When the Bourbons made tibeir way to the Spanish throne 
under Louis XY., and when Spanish fashions came back 
to Paris, the French cooks took a hint from the Spanish 
pot-au-feu — the oUa podrida — ^and produced a variation of 
their brown sauce which they called Spanish. The essen* 
tial principle of the French poirau-feu was beef; the 
essential principle of the Spanish was bacon, ham,^ the red 
Estremadura sausage — ^all well smoked. There is a rhyme 
which says, 

No hay olla sin tocino 

Ni sermon sin Agustino, — 

that an olla can be no more without bacon than a sermon 
without a quotation from St. Augustine. The Due de 
St. Simon sent home marvellous accounts of the hams of 
Montanches ; there grew up a rage for Spanish hams ; and 
the French were not to blame, for they have no hams of 
their own which have any reputation; Great as they are 
in pig's flesh, they are poor hands at bacon and ham ; and 
the treasures of MontancheS' were a revelation to them. 
They ran wild after hara. Here is an amusing story 
told of Bertrand, steward to the Prince of Soubise (see 
Soubise), who ordered fifty hams for a little supper 
which he had to prepare. Only one was to go to table ; 



Sauce 413 

the other forty-nine were to be worked into sauces and 
gamitares. And so^ by introdncing the jQavonr of the 
Estremadura bacon and ham into the old brown sauce of 
the French, there came into being the Spanish sauce. 

It was a grand hit this — ^the introduction of the hammy 
taste. The fashion spread^ and the word was passed from 
cook to cook as a secret worth knowing, that to make the 
brown sauce in perfection there was nothing like a slice or 
two of Spanish ham. But the best Montanches porkers 
are fed on vipers; and a retribution followed, as though the 
vipers in the Spanish hams had wanned to life and poisoned 
the wits of the French cooks. The hams of Montanches 
are not too plentiftil in this world of sorrow, and the cooks 
came to be satisfied with any h«m — even with French ham, 
which is littie better than salted pork. So the meaning of 
the prescription was lost ; the peculiarity of the Spanish 
sauce passed away, and its name became a puzzle. The 
French ham, whidb is not properly smoked, went for littie 
or nothing ; and there is no clear difference between the 
old brown sauce and that which is now called Spanish. 
Then followed this folly : — The French cooks having a 
tradition, which they did not understand, that ham was a 
good thing for brown sauce, thought it must be equally 
good for white, and put it into their Velveiniown, where 
it is altogether a mistake, as will presently be shown ; 
only as it was the tasteless French ham which was thus 
inserted, no result ensued except a pleasant sensation for 
the cooks that they were doing their work in the grand 
style and vindicating the titie of their art to the utmost 
ceremony. The cooks of other nations looked on with 
astonishment ; and seeing in the receipts that shoes of ham 
are always to line the bottom of the stockpot, laughed at 
the useless niceties of the French chemistry. The fact is, 
that the very best brown sauce can be made without an 
ounce of ham or bacon ; and to make the true Spanish 
sauce as understood by the old French cooks, a few 



414 Satue 

Frankfort sausages, with their fine smoky flayoor, or some 
of the Jewish smoked beef^ or the Jewish beef sansages — 
chorissas — are of more avail than a hundredweight of 
French ham. 

This analysis brings ns back to onr starting-point ; and 
three questions arise : Are we to be content with the one 
brown fandamental sauce of the French books? — ^and 
are we to call it Spanish ? 

To get at the root of the matter^ we must come to a 
clear understanding as to the real difference between the 
brown and the white, into which all gravy sauces are 
divided. The white sauces (which by the way are not 
necessarily white, for they may be tinged to any colour 
— ^yellow with the yolks of eggs or scarlet with toma- 
tos — and yet preserve their character) are the result of 
decoction and no other heating process. To get a full 
flavour in this way, however, implies a long decoction and 
a reduction of much meat. And even when the sauce has 
been thus reduced to a white cullis, the flavour of the 
Velvet-down may be so flat that it requires to be enriched 
with nearly its own volume of cream to make a good 
Bechamel, or with butter and yolks of eggs to make a 
good German sauce. And how is brown sauce different ? 
It may sound like a paradox to say so, but it is the simple 
fact, only expressed in a novel phrase — that the essential 
difference between brown and white sauce is that in 
addition to the boiling and simmering processes, which 
produce a white sauce, the brown one has to go through a 
process of roasting; and that this roasting creates a 
superlative flavour which can be obtained by very simple 
means. The juices of certain meats are, at a particular 
period of their decoction, roasted, and then submitted to a 
further decoction. What nonsense, it may be said, to speak 
of roasting a liquid! Who ever heard of roasting water? 
Nobody has ever been able to roast mere water ; but we 
have all heard of burning milk, of browning butter, and 



Sauce 415 

of making a sauce fall to a glaze. To understand all that is 
inyolyed in browning a sauce, or in making it fall to a glaze, 
it is better to use a more general expression, and to say 
that it is roasted. If it be objected that it is not English 
to speak of roasting anything in a pan, the reader must 
be reminded of the roasted chestnuts which he can see at 
every street comer, and of the coffee which is roasted in a 
closed cylinder. 

Now this roasting of coffee, with its result, affords a 
good illustration of what happens in the roasting of a 
sauce. It has never been properly explained how or why, 
but we all know that the roasting of coffee develops in it 
qualities — certain salts and volatile oils, one of them with a 
wonderful perfume — ^which no amount of boiling can educe 
from the raw berry. In five minutes after the coffee is 
roasted and ground, we get with boiling water a glorious 
beverage, which mortal man never yet came near with 
unroasted coffee. And it is to be observed that the result 
obtained by torrefaction is not merely a change of colour 
and an access of fragrance, but also the development of 
qualities that palpably affect the human frame, and ex- 
hilarate the nervous system. There is no such extraordi- 
nanr contrast in its effect upon our system between brown 
and white sauce; but the coffee illustration may be accepted 
as the most extreme statement which could be given of the 
difference that may be created in precisely the same ingre- 
dients by roasting and not roasting them. There is a much 
milder, but not less remarkable, illustration within every- 
body's reach. In five minutes the experiment can be 
made with two pats of the best butter. Take one of these 
and simply melt it in a ladle over a flame, making oiled 
butter. Take the other and roast it to a light hazel tint, 
making what is called nut-brown butter. The difference 
is astonishing. The roasting develops a fragrance in the 
nut-brown butter than which nothing can be more ex- 
quisite, although nothing is more simple. It is a perpetual 



4 1 6 Sauce 



miracle — ^the sudden generation by fire of a flayour which 
was not there before. The chemists do not explain it : 
their minds are occupied with much more distant matters 
— such as tetranitronaphthalene and tungstoeotungstic. 
bromide. It would be too much to expect them to forget 
for a moment itamonochloropyrotartaric and hjdjropan^ 
coumaric acids, to attend to anything so common as a 
complete statement of the chemical distinction between 
oiled butter and nut-brown butter. Whatever it may be 
that is developed by the process of roasting, it is typical 
of the entire difference which separates every form of 
brown sauce from every form of white. 

Although the principle is ever the same, it is to be 
observed that there are many ways of introducing into 
brown sauce the roast flavours. 1. The most direct method 
of all is to create the proper flavour by roasting the sauce 
itself — that is, to use a common expression, by boiling the 
juices of meat down to a glaze. This expression, how- 
ever, is faulty ; for it seems to convey the notion that the 
grand result is produced by boiling — which it is not. A 
thin broth or gravy will roast or bum no more than water 
will ; but it may be boiled down to such a consistence that 
the pan will then catch it as it catches butter, roast it^ turn 
it to glaze, and, if care is not taken, bum it. To boil down 
the sauce only prepares for the change which is to follow: 
the decisive change is produced by roasting. A pint 
of good stock will boil down to but a spoonful or two 
of such glaze, and a very little of this will go a long way 
to flavour sauces and soups. 2. Another way is to put the 
solid ingredients of the sauce, the meat and the vegetables, 
into a pan with butter, to brown them for a time — that is, 
really, to roast them — and then to boil them down either in 
water or bouillon. 3. A third way is to get the juices of 
the meat by boiling it slowly for a short time, say half an 
hour, in a small quantity of broth ; by then stabbing the 
meat, to make the juioei €ow out of it; by next boiling it 



Sauce 417 

rapidly^ till solid and fluid roast together — that is, fall to a 
glaze ; and finally by filling the vessel with broth or with 
water, and letting it simmer for hours till the decoction is 
perfect 4. It is very common to finish sauces by thicken- 
ing them with roux; and roux is nothing more than flour 
which has been roasted in butter. 5. One of the most 
ancient methods of the French kitchen for the perfection 
of a brown sauce, or a superexcellent consomm^, is to 
roast a fowl first, or it may be two, and then to boil them 
down in the stockpot; and those cooks who are afraid 
that some goodness may depart from the fowl in roasting 
it before a clear fire stipulate for brazing it — which is only 
another mode of roasting. 

It will now be understood that a cook proficient in 
sauces must haye the most delicate skill in roasting; and 
at the same time we reach the true meaning of the Spanish 
sauce. The introduction of the Spanish ham into the 
stockpot for brown sauce is but one out of many ways 
of awakening that taste of the fire which ought to mark 
it. Not that the ham has itself been roasted : it has only 
been smoked. The roast flayourin this case is the flavour 
of wood which has been roasted and burnt The fiavour 
has risen in a vapour which has been identified with creo- 
sote and pjrroligneous acid, and which, seizing on the ham^ 
has incorporated with it This incorporation may to some 
extent soften and tone down the tarry fiavour of charred 
or roasted wood ; but essentially the .roast flavour, which 
through the Spanish ham is supposed to improve a brown 
sauce, is a modification of the fiavour of charred pinewood. 
Knowing this, we can rate at its true worth the direction 
of the French cooks to put ham into all ^sauces and soups 
which are to be very good. The introduction of ham or 
of anything smoked, in however faint a degree, into white 
sauce, is opposed to its character. It is quite possible that 
the creosote in the ham may be too feeble to do any harm : 
the question is^ what good doies it do ? It is the natuce of 

27 



4i8 Sauce 

white sauce to be produced by decoction alone, so as to 
keep it quite free from any of the igneous flavours : what^ 
then, is the object of tampering with it by putting into it 
an ingredient whose special value is that it has an igneous 
taste of a certain kind ? Because two and a half cen* 
turies ago a French cook discovered that a Spanish ham 
mistily improved the savour of his brown sauce, we have 
slices of ham put into every soup and sauce and stew 
served at a £:rand dinner. See the far-reachins: and un- 
expected J^nences of great events. Beca^ early io 
the last century the blood royal of France and of Spain 
intermingled, a Jew cannot now feast with the Lord 
Mayor on the ninth of November without trembling for 
his soul; and much smiting of coBScience. I picture to 
myself the perplexity and despair of the greatest cook of 
this century, Car6me, who left the service of the Prince 
Begent in England to take c^oe in the household of Baron 
Rothschild in Paris. All the traditions of his art assured 
him that soups and sauces- are nothing without ham — that 
ham is the trumpet obligate in the symphony of a sauce 
— and ham was denied to him. It was due to the genius 
of €!artme that the Baron's dinner-table beeame the most 
refined in Europe ; but it did not require the genius of 
Gar^taie to prove that the absence of ham in the sauces 
made no difference. 

Hie following is an alphabetical list of the sauces 
described in this volume : — 



AUemande.. 


ColdB^hameL 


Almond cream.. 


Mock B^diamel 


Anchovy, 


Bigarade. 


Andiovy ImtteTi. 


wBlack butter. 


Apple. 


Blanquette. 


Airowroot. 


Bordeleae. 


Aspic. 


Brawn. 


Aurora. 


Bread. 


B^amaise. 


Breton. 


B^chameL 


Gaper. 



Sauer Kraut 419 


Celery. 


Oiled butter. 


Cruet 


Orange gravy. 


DeviL 


Parsley. 


Dutch. 


P^riguenx. 


Buxelles. 


Piquante. 


Egg. 


Plum. 


Engliflh. 


Poivrade. 


Espagnble. 


Polish. 


FenneL 


Pouletta 


Financiers'. 


Punch. 


Crenevese. 


Ravigote. 


Oerman. 


Ravigote butter. 


Gooseberry. 


Remoulade. 


Oravy, 


Robert 


Its own gravy. 


Sage and onion. 


Beef gravy. 


SahnL 


Veal gravy. 


Shalot 


Rich gravy. 


Sharp. 


Cold gravies. 


Skrimp.. 


Hollandaise. 


Soubise. 


Horseradish. 


Spanish. 


Italian. 


Supreme.^ 


Lemon. 


Tartar. 


Lobster. 


Tomato. 


Maitre d'H6teL 


Velvetdown.- 


Mayonnaise. 


Meck Velvetdown^ 


Green Mayonnaise. 


Venetian. 


MiTit. 


Venison. 


Nut-brown butter. 


*WJute-wine; 



Sauer Kraut. — There are few things more wholesome 
than the salted cabbage which is called sauer krani It 
will keep in good condition for a long time ; but English 
people do not seem to care enough about it to take the 
trouble of making it, and those who delight in it are 
content to buy it ready-made from the Italian ware- 
bouse. For the best go* to Lingner% (Md Compton Street, 
8oho, and Fenchurch Street, City. 

Take two pounds of it, and simmer it gently iTor three 
or four hours in water. Drain off the water and toss it 
over the fire in some &t broth of good flavour.. Serve 



420 Sauter — Sauti 



it with sausages — Frankfort the best ; or serve it with 
streaky bacon. It is sometimes brazed with a duck, and 
makes an excellent garnish. 

Sauteb, Saut£. — One might suppose that the idea 
which these words convey is unknown in English 
kitchens, since we find English writers trying to express 
it by speaking of kidneys jumped in champagne. The 
proper English word is tossi and English cooks know 
perfectly well what it is to toss things over the fire. It 
is to fry lightly in a little oil or butter. Frying proper is 
done with a large quantity of butter, oil, or other fatty 
matter, and creates a heat which, being far beyond that of 
boiling water, has a roasting effect. To fry lightly is to 
attempt frying with a mitigated heat, and to avoid roast- 
ing. This is done by using a small quantity of fatty 
matter and by tossing. The object of the tossing is partly 
to stir what is in the pan, to prevent it from burning, 
and to cook it equally throughout ; but also to cool it 
from time to time, and so to keep the heat below the 
temperature which belongs to frying proper. 

Savbloy — a name curiously corrupted from cervelasj 
which is itself corrupted from cervelat It was originally an 
Italian sausage into which pigs' brains entered. The brains 
are no longer used, but the name remains. Sausages with 
brains required to be cooked enough at the pork-butchers'. 
The name, therefore, is generally given to those sausages 
which require little or no further cooking, and which, being 
well cured, keep for a length of time. Such are the sausages 
of Bologna,. No vara, Aries, Lyons, and Brunswick. 

ScALLiON. — The same word as shalot — the onion brought 
by the Crusaders from Ascalon. 

Scollops. — What do the cooks mean by always talking 
of scollops — scollops of beef, scollops of veal, scollops of 
the breasts of fowl? What are scollops? They mean 
little slices, and they are a corruption of coUops, It 'is 



Scotch Broth 421 



one of the most curious things about the kitchen that, 
either because cooks are in general very ignorant, or 
because they love to mystify their dishes, the terms we 
use for food are the most corrupt of any in the language. 

Scotch Bboth is to Scotland what the pot-au-feu is to 
France, and involves an important question in household 
economy. The pot-au-feu of the French housewife is 
furnished for the most part with beef, which certainly is the 
best of all meat for brotL The broth or bouillon it yields 
may not only be made into first-rate soup, but is otherwise 
available for working into the stock which goes to form 
the finest sauces. This is no doubt a great advantage. 
But on the other hand, the frugal French housekeeper 
wants meat for her table as well as soup ; she therefore 
takes the boiled beef — or bouilli as it is called— out of the 
pot, and serves this to her family nearly every day of their 
lives. Now we have quite made up our minds in England 
that this is ''most tolerable, and not to be endured." 
That boiled beef we cannot away with. There is soup 
and sauce made of the beef, but once used for that purpose, 
it is rarely eaten. The Scotch take the same view; but 
they have for centuries set up another system, which they 
still hold to wherever they are to be found, all over the 
world. They have their choice mutton ; and they know 
that, although boiled beef is poor stuff to eat, boiled 
mutton is very good. They have therefore established a 
pot-au-feu with mutton instead of beef. They have a 
disadvantage in the broth which results. It is not to be 
compared with beef broth for goodness. On the other 
hand, it is good enough to make with vegetables a very 
fair soup. The fact is^ that many of the most delicious 
French soups are made without a spoonful of broth — 
witness the asparagus one. And further^ to the advan- 
tage of the account, there is a great gain — the mutton is 
eatable. It is notorious that in the dubs of London, with 



422 Sea-kale 

the best cookery at command, if Irish stew is pot npon 
the bill of fare it will be gone long before any other dish 
on the list ; and what is Irish stew but one of the forms 
of Scotch broth ? The Irish have nothing to do with it. 
The misnomer came from the French, who also call the 
Scotch barley broth Orge k Tlrlandaise. The principle of 
Scotch broth is to make a pot-au-feu of mutton, te work up 
the liquor into soup with various assortments of vegetables, 
and to present the mutton to be eaten along with it. 
Therefore it is a mistake to confine the name of Scotch 
or mutton broth to barley broth. It is a name which 
equally belongs to the thick potato-and-onion soup known 
as Irish stew, to the pea soup which Soyer has called 
"the inimitable .hotch potch," and to various other assort- 
ments. It is not any particular soup, but a system of 
soups set up in contrast to the French system of bouillon 
and bouilli in homely life. Perhaps the best example of 
the Scotch or mutton broth is the Hotch Potch, which 
will be found described under its own name. Here we 
give the receipt only for what is especially in England 
called Scotch broth. 

Take about six pounds of the neck or breast of mutton 
cut as for Irish stew, and carefully trimmed of fat. Put 
it into the pot widi six quarts of cold water, six ounces of 
barley, and some salt. Boil it, remove the scum, and then 
let it simmer for an hour; after which put into it two 
carrots, two turnips, three onions, and three heads of 
celery, all cut into dice or sliced, with a faggot of sweet- 
herbs and a pinch of pepper. Let the simmering go on 
for another hour, and the soup is ready. The cutlets can 
be served either with it or apart. 

Sea-kale. — Cardme made a discovery in London — sea- 
kale, which he denominated sometimes sckals, and some- 
times sikfeles. "They resemble," he says, "branches of 
celery, and are to be served like asparagus with a butter 



Sharp Sauu 423 



sauce ; bat I prefer to serve them with Espagnole/' About 
twenty minutes^ boiling. 

Shad may be described as a fresh-water herring, that 
migrajbes from the sea to the river, like salmon. Caught 
in the sea tbey are not good ; taken from certain rivers 
they are excellent. The rivers of Germany and France 
abound in the best shad^ and there the fish is a favourite. 
It is carious that even in the fresh water they exhibit 
their love of the salt They follow the salt barges of the 
Seine all the way to Paris in the spring. In England the 
fish is little known and not much valued. It comes up 
the Thames, however, in great numbers to spawn ; and in 
the month of May may be caught in any quantity by 
the Isle of Dogs. It may be sent to the grill like a her- 
ring, and served with mustard or caper sauce, or with a 
pnriSe of woodsorrel. 

It shoald be added that Cuvier ranks the shad, on 
account of a deep notch on its upper lip, in a dass by 
itself— distinct from the herring ; and that Yarrell follows 
in the same patL 

SHALOT~in Frendi, Eschalote — a diminutive of Ascalon, 
from whence this onion came. Scallion is frova the same 
source. It resembles garlic in having its bulbs divided 
into smaller bulbs called* cloves, because cloven. 

Shalat Sauce is the same as what is called -Sharp 
Sauce or Sauce Piquante, with this only difference — ^that to 
the latter there is added pickled gherkins. See Sharp. 

Sharp Sauce, or Sauce PiqtumU. — ^This is the same 
as the sauce known as Shalot sauce, with the sole differ- 
ence that at the last moment pickled gherkins are added 
to it. Chop finely (but apart) three tablespoonftils — one 
of shalots, one of gherkins, and one of parsley. Put the 
shalots into a stewpan with an ounce of butter, and accord- 
ing to the sharpness desired, from two to four tablespoonfuls 



424 Sheets Head Broth 

of Tinegar. Stir this over the fire till the vinegar \a 
reduced — ^and^ indeed, till the shalots absorb the whole of 
it that is left, which will be indicated by the bntter becoming 
clear. Then add an ounce of flour, and a pint of broth, 
together with pepper, and it may be salt— but this wiB 
depend on the saltness of the broth. Let it boil for a 
quarter of an hour, and let it be skimmed. Lastly, add 
die parsley and gherkins. Boil it up again, and if need 
be, skim again. 

Sheep's Head Broth (the grand Scotch receipt). — 
A sheep's head and trotters are singed, and are usually 
sent for this purpose to a blacksmith's forge. They might 
be singed with a red-hot iron in the kitchen, but it makes 
a smell which is apt to steal through the house. After 
singeing they are soaked in cold water or in sereral waters 
for two hours ; and afterwards lightly scraped and trimmed 
so as to remoTO excess of blaekness, though without de- 
stroying that burnt flavour which the singeing is meant to 
produce. The head is then to be split and to be rubbed 
over with the brains. 

Put the head and the trotters on the fire with two gallons 
of cold water and. half a pound of Scotch barley. Add 
pepper and salt, take off the scum as it rises, and simmer it 
for at least four hour& When it is about half done throw 
in a pint of carrots cut into dice. An hour before it is 
ready put in the same allowance of turnips, together with 
some chopped onions^n summer-time a few green peas. 

1^ soup may be served at once. Hie sheep's head, by 
universal consent, is best cokl. Li every manse throughout 
Scotland the minister eats sheep's head broth on Saturday 
while he is preparing his sermon, and cold sheep's head 
for his Sunday dinner.. That is why the sermons of the 
Kirk are so good. As for the trotters, though they improve 
the soup, they cannot be eaten cold, and it is best to serve 
them separately in a Poulette sauce. 



Shoulder of Mutton 425 

Sheep's Trotters in the Poulette way. Let them be 
singed, well washed^ blanched, and boned ; then simmered 
in a faggot of pot-herbs for four or five hours — Faggot 
2To. 6 — drained and served in the Poulette relish — Belish 
No. 6. 

Shoulder of Mutton is a joint about which there 
would be less controversy if people knew how to carve it. 
Always at the butcher's ranked as a second-class joint, 
many people will have nothing to say to it ; while others, 
again, declare that it is the Cinderella of meat — a beauty 
misunderstood and fit for princes. In nine cases out of 
ten, when mine host carves this joint he takes the inferior 
slices and sends down the best to be enjoyed by his ser- 
vants. He helps himself from the bend of the joint, where 
he can cut easiest, and he sends away the bladebone, 
where the most perfect morsels lie. Many cookery books 
give elaborate directions how to carve ; but not one points 
out that the best of the shoulder of mutton is to be found 
on the upper surface of the bladebone, against the ridge, 
and that after that the under part of the blade is richest in 
dainty morsels. 

The shoulder of mutton is usually roasted, but being fiat 
and comparatively thin, is easily grilled ; and a carbonade 
of it, or to speak more strictly, of its blade, has for cen- 
turies been a celebrated dish. But let no one be deceived 
by French receipts. Let the reader go back to the word 
carbonade, and understand what it really means. It is a 
broil which has been first slashed and scored, as in devilled 
meats, in order to be penetrated by pepper, salt, and other 
condiments — but above all by the taste of the fire. This 
we can nnderstand. In this sense the bladebone of mutton 
makes an admirable carbonade. But the French cooks 
have determined, for the glory of the Prince of Soubise, 
that in their sense a carbonade of mutton shall mean a 
bladebone planted or larded all over with fat bacon and 



426 Shrimp Sauce 



then stewed or brazed with a goodly faggot of vegetables. 
Let Mossoo have this if he likes it ; but John Bull, having 
easy access to the Southdowns, where the wethers grow 
fragrant on banks of thyme and trefoil, is apt to turn 
almost an Israelite when he hears of a proposal to dibble 
his shoulders of mutton with splinters of bacon. The car- 
bonade of mutton is sometimes called the Cavalier's broil ; 
and sometimes also it is parboiled before being scored^ 
peppered, and sent to the grill. Whether roasted or car- 
bonaded, the favourite garniture for shoiilder of mutton 
has long been stewed onions — ^whole, or sliced, or mashed. 
For whole onions choose Spanish ; for a mash take the 
Soubise or the Breton receipt 

Shrimp Sauce. — Make some English sauce, using for 
water the liquor in which the shrimps have boiled. Then 
throw in the shrimps without stint. It is not uncommon 
to add essence of anchovies ; but this overpowers the 
delicate shrimp flavour. 

Sirloin. — There are sceptics who deny the story of 
King Harry the Eighth having knighted this magnificent 
joint; and it is true that originally it was surloin — in 
French surlonge. But it was not kings alone who in the 
olden time had the right of dubbing knights : the general 
of an army could bestow the honour. The general of a 
feast has in like manner the right of bestowing titles of 
honour upon his chief dishes ; and the sirloin, which is 
renowned over the world as the grand type of the Boast 
Beef of Old England, may well be left with the title which 
has been accorded to it for ages by many generals of many 
feasts. 

Skatb. — To do him honour at table, there should be 
music with the skate, for he loves it. One way of catch- 
ing him used to be by playing on a fiddle. His love of 
melody was such that he came to the boat and was en* 



Smelts 427 

snared. It is well^ therefore, to honoar him with pleasant 
music when he is devoured. He comes in two distinct 
tribes to the English market — thornbacks and tinkers — ^the 
former much the better. He is generally sold at the fish- 
monger's crimped — ^that is, cut in strips and rolled round. 
He is eaten in England plain boiled, with ordinary butter 
sauce, to which mustard is sometimes added, or else capers; 
in France with black butter. And he ought always to be 
served with some of his liver, which, if this organ be the 
seat of the affections in fish, cannot but be good in the 
skate — the most affectionate fish in the world, a good 
father, a good mother, and fond of family life. 

For triumphant occasions, take the following receipt : — 
Boil the skate with a tumblerful of milk, a little butter^ 
tvvo pinches of flour, two cloves, two shalots, a bayleaf, 
thyme, salt, and pepper. Take him out of this, and 
strain the liquor. Put him next into a pie-dish, the 
bottom of which has been covered with grated Gruyfere 
cheese. Intermix canningly a dozen little onions, which 
have been already cooked Surround the dish with fi^Jed 
crusts. Then pour upon the skate the strained sauce in 
which he has been cooked ; cover him with more grated 
cheese, send him to the oven till he takes a fine colour, 
and rejoice over him. Improve the occasion, too, by 
meditating on the domesticity of the thomback, and the 
goodness which has been the result of it. 

Smelts (in French ^perlans, in Scotch Sperlings). — 
The most delicate and spirituel of all the fish that come to 
our tables. Brillat-Savarin has named it the becafico of 
the sea, as the turbot is the pheasant, and the red mullet 
the woodcock. Happily we have not to enjoy the smelts, 
as we do the becafico, by deputy. It is best to fry them 
lightly in suet, dipping them first in flour, then in beaten 
egg, lastly in fine breadcrumbs. Serve them on a napkin, 
with a garnishing of fried parsley, the bitter of which is 



4^8 Sntf>e 

in pleasant contrast with this little exquisite of the 
ocean. 

For a change, bake them as follows : — Ponr some clari- 
fied butter into the dish in which they are to be served ; 
also a glass of white wine, a few drops of anchovy 
sauce, and the juice of half a lemon. Arrange them 
prettily in the dish ; sprinkle them with salt, mace, and 
cayenne ; cover them with fine breadcrumbs ; and moisten 
the whole with more clarified butter. Put the dish into the 
oven, and in ten or fifteen minutes it ought to be ready — 
the crumbs light brown. 

Everybody knows that smelts, if fresh, ought to smell 
like cucumber. I do not so well understand what Beau- 
villiers means by saying that they smell like cucumbers or 
violets. They are in season from October till May. 

Snipe. — Tlie French call it b^cassine — a little woodcock; 
whereas the English would be rather disposed to call the 
woodcock a large snipe. The generic name in England is 
snipe ; but the honours bestowed upon the family at our 
tables are described in connection with the head of the 
family — ^the woodcock; of whom a French writer observes: 
" On v^n^re tellement ce pr^ieux oiseau qu'on lui rend 
les m^mes honneurs qu'au Grand Llama. C'est dire assez 
que les dejections sont non-seulement pr^cieusement re- 
cueillies sur des r6ties mouilldes d'un bon jus de citron, 
mais manges avec respect par les fervents amateurs." 

Snowdon Pudding. — It would not be surprising if a 
great controversy should arise about this pudding, perilous 
to the peace of England and Wales. It is a Welsh 
pudding with a Welsh name, which has been altered and 
consecrated into the Albert pudding. The Welsh harpers 
are certain one day in their Eistedfodds to make a noise 
about this tyrannous forgetiiilness of their nationality. 
Truth, however, must prevail, though the world and all 
the Welsh hills should come to an end; and the truth 



Sole 42^ 

iS; that a bad Albert pudding, or one made with common 
materials, will make a good Snowdon pudding. 

Sole is certainly the most useful of all the fish that 
visit us iu London — not only being delicate of flavour and 
easily digested, but being also of convenient size — large or 
small, as one could wish ; being found in plenty ; cheap 
enough ; in season all the year ; and keepinor sweet longer 
than any of the finny tribe. He is boiled, baked, and 
fried, but seldom stewed ; and there is yet another mode 
of making his acquaintance — namely, on the gridiron — 
which is almost peculiar to England. 

Broiled Sole. — The broiled sole of England is worthy 
of not less fame than the beef-steak and the mutton-chop. 
It is not often seen at dinner, but it is a favourite at the 
breakfast-table ; and it is in its way among the varieties 
of fish as perfect as a mutton-chop among the varieties of 
flesh. Grill it in the simplest fashion; sprinkle it with 
pepper and salt ; and serve it with a pat of fresh butter 
rubbed over it. 

Boiled Sole. — Plain boiled in salt and water. Many 
people like it, — mostly women. Small soles or slips are 
served in waterzootje at Greenwich, but not with very 
brilliant success. 

Sole au Vin Blanc, — Sole boiled in white wine, and served 
with white wine sauce. Put the sole, carefully trimmed, 
into a flat fishpan of its own size. Surround it with slices 
of a small onion, a faggot of sweet-herbs, a clove, four 
peppercorns, and a little salt. Put upon it a piece of 
butter the size of a walnut, pour in white French wine 
enough to cover it, and closing the lid of the pan, set it to 
boil for ten or fifteen minutes, according to the size of the 
sole. When done put the sole on a dish, and keep it hot 
for a moment while the sauce is prepared from its liquor. 
This is done by removing from it the onion slices and 



430 Sole 

the iaggot ; by shaking into it, on the angle of the stove, 
Bome yolk of egg, till it slightly thickens; lastly, by 
straining it over the fish. Care mnst be taken not to use 
too mndi egg. For a small sole half a yolk ought to be 
enongh. 

Sole a la Nomumde (the Normandy matelote). — The 
following receipt, with the alteration of a word or two, is 
borrowed from Gouff^, who says that he had it direct from 
Langlais, the chef of the Bocher d^ Cancale, who invented 
it. Butter a silver dish ; strew it with onions chopped 
fine and previously blanched ; season the sole with pepper 
and salt; put it on the dish ; cover it with white French 
wine, and cook it in the oven. In the meantime prepare 
some mussels, oysters, mushrooms, fried smelts, and crusts 
for garnish. Add the liquor of the sole and that of the 
mussels to some mock Velvet-down, reduce it, and thicken 
it with yolk of egg. Place the mussels, oysters, and mush- 
rooms on the sole; pour over all some sauce; return 
the dish to the oven for five minutes, being careful not to 
brown the sauce, which should be of a rich cream colour ; 
garnish the top with the fried smelts and the crusts ; and 
serve the remaining sauce in a boat. 

Baked Sole (Sole au Gratin). — Some people speak of the 
Normandy matelote as being baked because it is done in the 
oven ; but an oven^ like a fire, will boil as well as roast, — 
and the Normandy sole has no sign of baking or roasting 
upon it. It is diflPerent with the sole au gratin. Take a 
silver dish, or any other which will stand the heat of the 
oven. Make a cut down each side of the backbone of the 
sole ; season it with salt and pepper ; put it into the dish 
with a lump of butter in the iurrows ; and strew all about 
the fish two teaspoonfuls of mushrooms, one of parsley, 
and one of shalot. Moisten this with a glass of white 
French wine ; powder all well with bread-raspings, and 
put it in the oven for fifleen or twenty minutes, to cook 



Sorrel 43 1 

and to take colour. The colour may afterwards be helped 
out with the salamander. Fillets of sole may be done in 
the same way. 

Fried Sole. — The French way has always been to steep 
the sole in milk for a few minutes^ to flour it well, and 
then to put it in the frying-kettle. But nobody ever uses 
this method in England ; and even in France, when the 
fish is wanted at its best, the Sole frite k I'Anglaise carries 
the day. It must be perfectly dry to begin with, and is 
sometimes very lightly dredged with flour in order to make 
the breadcrumbs which are to follow adhere the better. 
After the flour it is brushed with egg, then laid on the 
finest breadcrumbs, first one side then the other, then 
passed into the frying-kettle for from six to ten minutes. 
Finally, sprinkle it with salt and serve it with half a 
lemon and parsley fried crisp. As a rule cooks do not 
make the parsley crisp enough to be eaten with pleasure, — 
which is a great mistake, because its delicate bitter goes 
admirably with fried fish. 

Colberfa Sole, — This is the grand French way of frying 
a sole, and is described under the name of Colbert 

Fried Fillets of Sole. — ^These are done as a whole sole 
would be, but the best are known under the following 
name : — 

Fillets of Sole a la Horly. — They are described among 
the Horlys, and are sent to table with fried parsley and 
tomato sauce. 

Sorbet of Rum. — A lemon ice with a teaspoonful or 
two of rum to the glass. Served at dinner — sometimes 
before, sometimes after the roast. 

Sorrel. — The French eat a great deal of sorrel, not 
merely because it is pleasant to the taste^ but because they 
think it must be good for the health. More than any other 
people in Europe, they have preserved among them the 



432 Sorrel 

ancient habit of looking to the medicinal value of their 
food. Most of us eat nowadays to satisfy hunger, or to 
tickle the palate, whereas our fathers saw a medical virtue 
in every beast of the field and in every herb that grows. 
The French keep up this old-world style, and have books 
which tell them the healing properties and the digestive 
capabilities of every morsel which enters their mouths. 
They are a healthy people ; but one would imagine them 
to be sickly from the way they cherish a potage de sant^ 
and study the effects of dishes on every organ of their 
frames. They have a grand idea that the best way to 
secure health is to stimulate the alimentary system into 
violent action. This is a little too suggestive of the African 
tribes mentioned by Sir Samuel Baker, who believed in 
HoUoway's Pills because of their rapid and irrepressible 
results ; but it is interesting to see the similarity of human 
nature at opposite poles of culture — the savage and the 
civilised. In the old herbal system, and in the French 
practice of the present day, sorrel is much prized for its 
cooling and cleansing virtues. It may be excellent in this 
way ; but the medical botanists of our day point out that 
the acid of sorrel — oxalic acid — is a poison, and that too 
much sorrel cannot be eaten with impunity. Majendie 
has pointed out that the frequent consumption of oxalic 
plants by persons disposed to calculous diseases is danger- 
ous, as they tend to produce the mulberry or oxalate of 
lime calculus, which is not only the most painful of all the 
stones found in the human bladder, but also the most 
insidious — not giving the usual signs of alarm beforehand. 
Pereira has with great caution confirmed this — only saying 
that the use of sorrel jnat/, under some circumstances, 
dispose to the formation of mulberry calculi. This is no 
reason why sorrel should be forbidden. In small quantities, 
as a last flavouring to soups and sauces, it is harmless, and 
especially in the more delicate form of woodsorrel. But 
the French will eat it as a dish oy itself ; taking a whole 



Soubise 433 

peck of the leaves to make a pur^ to go with a fricandeau 
of veal or with poached eggs. We all like some acid to 
go with our veal, and sorrel is a favourite accompaniment 
of certain fish ; hut after all there is no acid comparable to 
lemon-juice for delicacy of flavour and for wholesomeness. 
Let us reserve sorrel for Bonne Femme soup and woodsorrel 
for Julienne. 

Soubise. — The Prince of Soubise is immortal in a 
renown that has spread round the world because he had 
a great cook, Bertnind, who gave the name of his master 
to one of his sances. The Prince was meritorious, for he 
put infinite faith in Bertrand. On one occasion he pro- 
posed a supper, and requested Bertrand to prepare a bill. 
There was one little item in the bill of fifty hams. " What 
is this? " said the Prince. *^ You must be mad, Bertrand. 
Are you going to feast all my regiment ? " " No, Mon- 
seigneur," said the chef — "only one ham will appear at 
table, but the rest are required for my sauces and gar- 
nitures." "Bertrand, you are robbing me," cried the 
Prince ; '^ I cannot allow this." " Monseigneur," said the 
artist, quietly, " you do not understand our resources ; 
I will, if you choose, put all the fifty hams which astonish 
you so much into a glass vial no bigger than my thumb." 
The Prince withdrew his objection: he had faith in genius; 
and that genius has immortalised him in the Soubise sauce- 
Most persons will read this story, and enjoy it as a piece 
of pleasantry. They are wrong. Bertrand, I have little 
doubt, was perfectly serious. He lived at a period when 
Spanish fashions, and with them the Spanish ham, were in 
high favour. This ham has a fine smoky perfume, which 
is not to be found in the half-smoked French ham. The 
cooks then were trying to produce a Spanish sauce with 
the flavour of the Spanish ham. It would probably 
require -ten French hams to produce the result of one 
Spanish one ; and a chemist in our own day, could, out of 

28 



434 Soubise 

a log of pinewood, provide ns with a small vial of odorous 
pjToligneoas essence which a opok in the time of Loois 
XIV. could not obtain without the decoction of fifty hams. 
A cook is after all a chemist, and in those days the chemis- 
try of the kitchen was very cumbrous and expensive. 

The Soubise sauce intended for mutton will be found 
below; but it may be doubted whether one Englishman 
in a million who enjoys his mutton cutlet k la Soubise 
dreams of what it ought to be as imagined by the 
great chef Bertrand, and as accepted by the Prince of 
Soubise. It has already been said that Bertrand was 
an enthusiastic believer in ham and bacon. The chief 
article of his worship was fiimigated pig^ and his notion 
of mutton was that it should always be intersected 
with bacon. Take a neck of mutton, trim it, parboil it, 
cut it into thick cudets, lard them well with plugs of 
bacon, broil them, and serve them with a white pur^ of 
onions. Ditto- for the shoulder of mutton. Englishmen 
aie of course scandalised at the idea of larding good 
mutton ; and accordingly they discard everything from 
Bertrand's receipt but the Soubise sauce. They are quite 
right ; but at the same time it is not difficult to guess at 
the explanation of Bertrand's proceedings. They probably 
grew out of the carbonado. A carbonado of mutton is 
cold underdone mutton, scored and slashed and sent to 
the grill. Bertrand had to do a carbonado one day, and 
felt that tile mutton already cooked would be dried up on 
the griU. He tried to prevent this by interlacing it with 
bacon ; and tiie result of the broil was so satisfactory to 
him and to his master that henceforth he took to parboiling 
his mutton for the express* pui;pose of larding it first and 
then carbonading it 

Soubise Sauce. — Peel, blanch, and mince an abundance 
of onions. Simmer them gentiy in white broth till they 
are done. Then add some B&shamel, or in default of 



Soup 435 

Bechamel a tumbler of cream with two spoonfuls of flour 
and two pinches of sugar. Reduce this quickly, but 
always taking care that it does not catch the pan and 
lose colour. Pass it through the tammy and finish it 
with fresh butter. See that it comes out decidedly 
thick. 

Soup. — There has been a good deal of needless con- 
troversy about soup — some people finding in it a dinner 
of itself, and some refusing it as a weak wash fit only for 
babes and invalids. Grimod de la Reyni&re said that soup 
is to dinner what a portico is to a palace, or an overture to 
an opera ; it is not only the commencement of the feast, 
but should give an idea of what is to follow. On the other 
hand, the Marquis de Cussy described soup as the preface 
of dinner, and said that a good work can do without a 
preface. CarSme, on his death-bed, groaned over this 
heresy : and among his last words he said, " Why should 
the Marquis de Cussy wage war on soup ? I cannot under^ 
stand a dinner without it. I hold soup to be the well- 
beloved of the stomach." What the Marquis de Cussy 
contended for was little more than this : that it is folly to 
load the stomach at the beginning of a long banquet with 
an elaborate essence — ^let the soup be light in quality, and 
let a few spoonfuls suffice. People often sit down to a 
late dinner faint and irritable; and those who have observed 
how quickly a little liquid nourishment acts as a restora- 
tive will never consent to dispense with soup as the best of 
all preliminaries at dinner. It is quite true, however, that 
to serve such a purpose we do not require much weight of 
matter; and the plain rule to follow is : For a great dinner 
the soups should be as light as possible — just enough to 
give a fillip ; for a little dinner, with one or two dishes, 
they may be as rich and satisfying as you please. De 
Cussy is quite in accord here with Thomas Walker (of 
the OrigmaJ), who maintained that if he gave turtle soup 



436 Soup 

to his guests they would want little else — whitebait and 
a grouse. 

It has been reckoned that there are about five hundred 
kinds of soup ; but this number is reached by giving the 
dignity of a separate receipt to every little variation. Thus 
there are a dozen sorts of Italian paste — vermicelli, maca-* 
roni, nouilles^ lasagnes^ and the rest. Each of these pat 
into a clear gravy gives rise to a different soup. If we 
put into the very same fluid sago or tapioca, bread or rice 
or barley, a pur^e of potatoes or peas, carrots or turnips, 
tomatos or Jerusalem artichokes — we are supposed in- 
stantly to create a new soup. It would be a waste of 
time to attempt to enumerate all the possible combinations 
of solids and liquids that may be called soup. The solids 
are innumerable : the liquids are reducible to six — ^water, 
milk, wine, and the juices of beef, veal, and fowl. The 
cook finds the first three of these made to his hand; and 
his chief business as a soupmaker is to produce the most 
nutritive and tasteful broths from the viands furnished by 
the ox, by his nephew the calf, and by poultry. He has 
also other animals at command — such as mutton, game, and 
fish ; but his grand resources for the stockpot are beef, 
veal, and fowl. From these he produces four different 
broths — two simple and two double — which are the founda- 
tions of nearly all the soups that can be imagined : 1. 
Beef broth or bouillon ; 2. Double broth or consomm^ ; 3. 
Veal stock or gravy (in French blonde de veau — another 
double broth) ; and 4. Fowl broth which is simple. 

This looks plain enough, and so it is ; but the reader 
who will compare the cookery books will soon find himself 
lost in a confusion of receipts with a puzzling variety of 
names for the foundation-broths or gravies. It is because 
cookery, though a science, is not and cannot be an exact 
science ; while at the same time the professors of cookery 
propound their receipts as if it were exact. They give 
a receipt with so much particularity that they have to 



Soup 437 

give another and another to cover a diflFerent set of par- 
ticulars not included in the first. I might quote receipts 
furnished by the great masters — Beauvilliers, Cardme, 
Dubois, GouflR^ — from which a logician could easily prove, 
setting one against another, that there is no distinction 
between beef broth and consomm^, broth and double broth; 
and even that veal stock and fowl broth are in substance 
(though not in process of cooking) the same thing. Take 
Gouff^, for example, who is the greatest living authority, 
and rarely makes a mistake. According to him the animal 
ingredients of the best veal stock are : 4 lbs. of veal, 2 lbs. 
of gravy beef, 2 hens, and ^\ quarts of beef broth, which 
. ought to represent 7 or 8 lbs. of beef ; and those of the 
best fowl broth are 6 lbs. of veal, 2 hens, and 5 quarts of 
similar beef broth. Compare the two. There is more 
veal in the fowl broth than in the veal stock ; and the 
name of veal is given to that which contains least of it for 
this only reason — that before it is set to simmer in the five 
quarts of beef broth, it is first reduced to a glaze with 
an extra pint of that broth. Further, taking liquid and 
solid together, there is in the veal stock more of beef than 
anything else — ^not far from ten pounds ; and in the fowl 
broth it is the same, though in less degree. 

There is a remarkable difference of opinion as to the 
quantity of cold water to be added to beef and beef-bone 
in order to make broth or bouillon. A pound of water is 
exactly a pint ; and whereas some authorities (Liebig, 
Dubois and Bernard the latest) declare that a good bro^ 
requires equal quantities of solid and liquid — ^a pound of 
the one to a pint of the other — the most recent authority of 
all, and a very great one too (Jules Gouffd), recommends in 
one receipt 2f pints, in another 3^, in a third no less than 4, 
pints or poimds of water to the pound of beef. Here is 
an immense range ; and between these extremes there is 
endless variety of opinion. The difference is incalculable 
between a broth made by adding a pint of water, and one 



438 Soup 

made by adding four pints, to every pound of beef. And 
observe that the difference goes further than the simple 
broth or bouillon ; it affects the character of the double or 
consumed broth which ensues. The first point of distinc- 
tion between broth and double broth is simply in strength 
— the liquid used for the first being cold water, the liquid 
used for the second being the resultant broth of the first. 
But it can easily be understood that simple broth or 
bouillon made from equal quantities of beef and water 
is stronger and better than double broth or consomm6 
which has been made from bouillon that has been diluted 
with four times its weight of water. All this shows the 
danger of being over precise. A good deal must be left 
to the judgment of the cook, who has to take into account 
the result which he or she desires to obtain. A middle 
rule was laid down by the French chemist Parmentier in 
the last century : let the water be double the meat — a 
quart for every pound. This is the ordinary practice of 
French kitchens. If the bouillon is wanted very light, 
redouble the water ; if strong, reduce it. 

Another detail, and one not less important The dif- 
ference between bouillon and consomm^, broth and double 
broth, is not merely in strength — ^it is also in character. 
The bouillon is a beef broth ; the consomm^ is a beef 
broth which has been doubled with veal and fowl — ^the 
former to give it gelatine, the latter to give it flavour. 
But read the receipts for making up the stockpot or 
potrau-feu, and for producing its broth or bouillon. In all 
of them it is stated that while beef is the essential con- 
sideration, we are free to add to it whatever else we have 
at command ; veal, calves' feet, the remains of fowl, a 
trussed fowl if we want one for table, a leg of mutton, 
any trimmings of meat, pigskin, a ham-bone, or even a 
whole ham if that should be in the way ; and some of the 
great cooks (like Dubois and Bernard) insist that the 
grand bouillon, to be properly made, must never be com- 



Soup 439 

posed of beef alone : it mast be composed of beef, veal, 
and fowl, the constituents of consomm^, in the proportion 
of 6 lbs. of beef to 2 of veal and 1 of fowl. Now see what 
this means. 

If Gooffi^, thongh he heartily approves of any good 
addition to the stockpot, allows yon to make bouillon of 
beef and beef-bone alone, concocted in four times its weight 
of water ; if his consomm^ is made by another concoction 
of the broth thus obtained with a trio of beef, veal, and 
fowl ; and if, on the other hand, Dubois and Bernard insist 
that bouillon is in the first instance to be made from a trio 
of beef, veal, and fowl dissolved in no more than their own 
weight of water — indeed, rather less ; * — all this surely 
means that the first broth of Dubois and Bernard ought to 
be as good as the second or double broth of Gouffi^, and is 
obtained by a much simpler process. The consomm^ or 
double broth, as distinguished from plain broth or bouillon, 
may thus be nothing but a grand name, meaning no more 
than the celebrated phrase of Mr. Squeers' — " Here's rich- 
ness, boys I " The simple boidllon of one kitchen is often 
richer and better than the most elaborate soup of another. 

It is a curious proof of the folly of laying down tight 
rules, that often in the French books one stumbles upon 
the statement — " Notez qu'on ne peut esp^rer faire un bon 
bouillon que dans une marmite de terre ; ^ and English 
housewives will account for their bad soup by saying, "We 
cannot have the pot-au-feu as in France because our pots 
are metal." The one advantage — a great one, no doubt 
— of the French earthen pot is, that earthenware is a bad 
conductor of heat — slow to heat and slow to lose heat. The 

* As it may aeeni extravagant to prescribe rather less thaa 
pound for pound, it is right to give their exact quantitieB for 
bouillon. '' Proportions approximatives : 14 kiL de boeuf, 5 kil. de 
veau, 2 ponies ou T^uivalent de parures, 30 litres d'eau/' This, 
reduced to English measure, means as nearly as possible 46 lbs: of 
meat to 43 lbs. or pints of water. 



440 Soup 

secret of making soup is to begin with cold water, to bring 
it slowlj to the boiling-point, a mere ripple on the surface^ 
to let it simmer gently and continaously for hours — ^never 
boiling up and never ceasing to simmer. On these three 
points — tiie gradual production of the heat, the moderation 
of the boiling, and keeping it up to the end — the flavour 
and the clarification of the broth largely depend; and it is 
easy to manage this in an earthen vessel. But it is just as 
possible with an iron or copper stockpot. It may not be 
so easy upon an open fire, but there is no difficulty what* 
ever on the closed ranges which are now so common. We 
can regulate the heat perfectly by choosing any position for 
the stockpot, from the comer of the stove to ilie centre. 

There is another needless direction. Soup should never 
be greasy. Every particle of fat should be removed. It 
is tedious to do so, however, by the ordinary process of 
skimming ; and so we are sometimes advised to make the 
broth beforehand, and to make a supply for two days. 
When the broth cools the fat will cake on the surface, and 
may then be easily removed. The advice is good up to a 
certain point. It saves labour to make a good supply of 
broth at a time : it loses nothing in two days, even in hot 
weather, if kept in clean fresh vessels. But there is a 
simple mechanical contrivance to get rid of grease which 
6u|(ht for ever henceforth to render the little eyes which 
appear on the surface of soup an impossibility. All the 
fat rises to the top of the stockpot ; if there is a tap at 
the bottom of it the broth will flow out without a particle 
of grease. 

Common sense will tell the cook to beware of salt. 
It is well to put it into the stockpot from the beginning, 
because it helps to make the scum rise ; but what is barely 
enough for a full stockpot may be a great deal too much 
when the liquid boils down to half. The liquid flies ofl^ in 
steamy but the salt remains. 

The advantage of sugar is not so well known. It is 



Soup 44 1 

as much for the saccharine matter which they contain as 
for anything else that onions^ carrots, and turnips are so 
necessary to the stockpot A little pinch of sugar at 
table is often a wonderful improvement to a tasteless 
soup. But a soup too sweet is sickly; and the cook must 
be very careful in applying it to the stockpot. She must 
take into account not only the sweetness of the vegetables 
in the pot^ but also the sweetness of the caramel wdth 
which she will probably have to give the finishing touch of 
colour to the soup before sending it to table. 

1. Beef Brothy Bouillon^ or Stock, — Bone the beef first 
and what other meat is to be used along with it. Beef 
alone is enough, but almost any other meat may be added, 
or trimmings or remains. Put the bones in first, then the 
meat, then twice as much water as bone and meat com- 
bined — a quart to a pound. Add a little salt, bring it 
slowly to the boiling-point, and skim it. When skimmed 
enough, add the vegetables — carrots, turnips, parsnips, 
celery, onions, leeks, a faggot of parsley, two or three 
cloves, twice as many peppercorns, and a scrape or two of 
nutmeg. After simmering for five hours it ought to be 
ready. Strain it, clear away the fat, adjust the salt, colour 
it if need be with caramel, and with the addition of toasted 
sippets it is quite fit for table. Without the final salt, the 
caramel and the sippets, it can be put aside as stock for 
the preparation of other soups and for sauces: 

2. Double Broth or Conaommd, — The receipt for this 
depends a good deal on what beef broth the first consists of. 
It may have been made with much or with little water ; it 
may be composed of beef alone, or of a little beef heightened 
with veal, fowl, mutton, ham, and all that is meant by ^^pot 
luck.^' The great thing now is to produce a good stock, 
strong with beef ; smooth and gelatinous with veal, with 
calves' feet, or with pigskin ; and perfumed with fowl or 
wild rabbits. It is impossible to state the exact proper- 



442 Soup 

tions, and chiefly because broth No. 1 is uncertain — it is 
"pot luck." Some cooks add no beef whatever, calcu- 
lating that when the bouillon or beef broth which liqaefies 
the consommd is further reduced by five hours* boiling, 
there is quite enough beef in it already. If the first 
beef broth has a good supply of beef in it, they are 
quite right in adding none to the second Assuming thai 
when boiled down it will be sufficiently strong in beef, 
the next object is to make it smooth upon the tongue and 
sapid. To this end add a knuckle of veal and a fowl, from 
which the fillets have been removed. Instead of the veal 
calf's feet will do, or some pigskin— both rich in gelatine, 
and giving the broth a velvety sOLOothness. Instead of 
the fowl a wild rabbit will suffice. Pour on this meat 
double the quantity of brodi — that is, a quart for every 
pound. Bring it gradually to the boiling-pointy and skim 
it When the skimming is at an end, the usual order is 
to garnish it with carrots, onions, leeks, and a little mace ; 
but this is because cooks so seldom know when they have 
enough of a good thing ; they forget that the broth which 
goes into the pot is already charged with vegetables. 
Let the whole simmer for five hours, at the end of which 
time strain it, keep clear of the fat, look to the salt and 
the caramel ; and there ought to be a fine soup ready for use. 

Some of the French cooks recommend that the veal, but 
more especially the fowl used as above, shall first be 
roasted, baked or brazed — partly for the sake of the 
colour so produced, partly for the flavour which it de- 
velopes. This is too troublesome for every day, but it is 
worth while to take the trouble on special occasions. 

3. Veal Stockj or Blonde de Veatu — This is, although not 
so called, another consomme or double broth, but prepared 
in a peculiar way. Butter a deep stewpan, and line the 
bottom of it half an inch thick with slices of onion. 
Upon this cushion put a slice of ham, quite free from 
fat, and a knuckle of veal which has been boned ; put in 



Soup 443 

also the bone, with any fresh trimmings of poultry, or a 
whole fowl if there is one, and with nearly a pint of broth. 
Put it on the stove fire, and boil it briskly until it is well 
reduced. Then prick the veal with a sharp knife, to let the 
juices flow out, and turning it frequently to prevent burn- 
ing, boil it slowly, very slowly, till the glaze darkens to a 
deep red. Next fill up the pan (a pint for a pound) with 
boiling beef broth (No. 1), or simply with boiling water if 
it is not wanted very strong, and let the pan remain off 
the fire for a few minutes, to detach and melt the glaze. 
Put it on the fire again, boil it, skim it — and if the pot has 
been filled with water, not with broth, garnish it with 
carrots, turnips, celery, a faggot of parsley, some pepper- 
corns, a blade of mace, and perhaps a pinch of sugar. It 
should simmer on the angle of the stove for three or four 
hours; and when strained through a napkin and clarified, 
it should have a rich amber tint, as it is much used for 
colouring the clear soups and for finishing sauces. 

4. Fowl Broth. — This broth, as now ordered to be made 
by some of the greatest authorities, differs in no essential 
from ordinary consomm^ or double broth. Oonsomm^ is, 
according to them, made of beef, veal, and fowl boiled in 
beef broth ; consommd of fowl is made of fowl, veal, and 
beef boiled in broth; and we have already seen that blonde 
de veau is composed of the same materials — ^veal, fowl, and 
beef boiled in broth. This is mere thimble-rigging. The 
fact is, that there is no such broth as consomm^ of fowl 
distinct from ordinary consommd. A little more or a little 
less fowl cannot constitute a difference of kind ; and the 
difference of name only perplexes cooks, who, if they work 
out a consommd in the proper way, are fairly entitled to 
some freedom in the choice of quantities. It is a farce to 
suppose that the addition of a second fowl to a consomm^ 
alters its character, and entitles it to a new name ; for the 
name of consonmi^ has a special meaning, which does not 
apply to the following receipts. 



444 



Soup 



Let one or more fowls be half-roasted before a brisk 
fire. Then pnt them in the pot with a pint or a pint and 
a half of water for every pound. When the pot boils, 
skim it^ add vegetables and. seasoning — carrot, onion, leek, 
celery, turnip, elove, salt, pepper-and let it simmer for 
three hours, at the end of which time strain die broth 
through a napkin, and remove the fat. 

Wliiie Fowl Broth, for use in white soups and sauces, is 
made in the same waj, but without the roasting. 

The following is an alphabetical list of the soups 
described in this volume :-r— 



AflparaguB. 

Barley broth. 

Barley cream. 

Bisque. 

Blonde de Yeau. 

Bonne Femme.. 

BouillabaiBse. 

Broth. 

Brunoise. 

Cabbage. 

Carrot. 

Celery. 

Chantilly. 

Chestnut. 

Chicken. 

Queen's Chicken.- 

ChifTonnade. 

Cock-a-leekie.. 

Colbert. 

Cond^. 

Consomm^. 

Crayfish. 

Cr^y. 

Cresses. 

Crolite-au-pot. 

Esau's. 

Fish broth, 

Girasol. 

Hare. 



Haricot Bed. 

Haricot White. 

Hotch Potch. 

Julienne. 

Leek. 

Leek and potato. 

Lentil. 

Macaroni. 

Mutton. 

Palestine. 

Paysanne. 

Pea. 

Potato. 

Pot-au-feu. 

Pumpkin. 

Restaurant. 

St. Germain. 

Scotch Broth. 

Sheep's head. 

Soup in general. 

Spring. 

Stock. 

Tomato. 

Turtle. 

Mock Turtle. 

Veal. 

Vegetable Marrow. 

Vermicelli. 



Spanish Sance 445 



Sot — a sort of ketchup made from the Soy bean {Soja 
hispida)y a native of China^ Japan, and the Molnccas. 
We have got a way of calling it Indian Soy, because it 
comes to us from India ; but all the best is made in Japan 
and China by a process which is perfectly well understood* 
It is not quite dear, however, why, since we might import 
though we cannot grow the Soy bean, which is like a 
kidney bean, we cannot reproduce the sauce for ourselves ; 
and this mystery has led to a widespread superstition that 
the Soy must be made from some of the horrors with which 
the Chinese at least are known to indulge their appetites. 
The bean suggests a black beetie ; and there are numbers 
of people who seriously believe that from black beetles the 
Soy is made. Another point is not clear. From every 
account of the process of making Soy we should expect a 
sauce as salt as Anchovy sauce. It is said to be used like 
salt at Oriental tables. But the Soy with which we are 
familiar in Europe is not only as black as treacle, but also 
as sweet. 

Spanish Sauce has for more than a century been the 
chief sauce in Europe. The name is rather absurd, and 
now means no more than Brown Sauce of the finest quality. 
For centuries there were Spanish sauces of one kind or 
another adopted in France, but it was a new thing for the 
French in the last century to give the name of the Spaniard 
to their most elaborate gravy. The great cooking authority 
in the middle of last century, when Louis XY. reigned 
in all his glory, was Menon ; and his books clearly show 
what the sauce was intended to be. Its grand peculiarity 
was to have a double supply of ham, which predominated 
over every other ingredient These were days when it 
was supposed that no sauce could be made good without 
ham. In Menon's receipts for family use nearly all the 
sauces have for their foundation one slice of ham and one 
slice of veal boiled down in beef brotL The Spanish sauce 



44^ Spinach 

had two slioes of ham ; and grew into such &yoar that it 
seemed to eclipse all the other brown sauces, and to be 
worthy of the most lavish adornment* In later days, when 
this system of adornment was at its height, one of the 
receipts for it already quoted begins with the direction, 
^' Take twelve ducks, a ham, two bottles of old Madeira, and 
six pounds of fine truffles.^' While the ham was the chief 
thing in the sauce, there was a reascm for calling it Spanish, 
which will be found in the general article on Sauces. But 
gradually the influence of the ham has been diminishing. 
The share of it allowed to Spanidi sauce is allowed to 
other sauces, and the quantity has been so much reduced 
in proportion to beef and veal, that it is doubtful whether 
it has any e£Pect worth aiming ai Spanish sauce has no 
longer a Spanish characteristic — save its brownness ; and 
at last a great cook (Gouff(i) has been bold enough to strike 
the ham wholly out of the sauce, which is in his receipt but 
a good gravy of beef and veal finished with roux. 

Follow the receipt (pp. 225) 226) for making beef or 
veal gravy, but use beef and veal together in the pro- 
portion of one to three, and moisten them with broth 
instead of water, in both the small quantity required for 
producing the glaze in the first part of the process, and 
the larger quantity for simmering in the second. When 
the juice is fairly^ extracted from the meat, it is to be 
strained ; it is to be thickened with roux ; it is to be raised 
to boiling point and reduced to a cuUis by simmering on 
the angle of the stove ; it is to be skimmed well and freed 
from grease ; and it is last of alL to be strained again 
through a tammy. 

Spinach requires to be well washed and picked. If 
young and tender, it requires but little water to boil it — 
little more than the moisture which adheres to it after 
washing. If ripe and strong of leaf, more water is needed 
— but still not much. The water should be boiling, some 



Spitchcock 447 



salt should be added, and in ten minates for yoang, fifteen 
for folUgrown spinach^ it is cooked enougL Afler this the 
^inach is drained in a colander, and the water squeezed 
out. It is then either chopped finely, or — the better to get 
rid of stalks and fibres-^paased through a sieve ; it is put 
upon the fire with batter, pepper, salt again, and some 
nutmeg ; when it has absorbed the batter, it is dredged 
with flour ; it is stirred for a little on the fire to cook the 
flour, and then at the last moment there is another piece 
of butter melted into it to give it the finishing touch. 
' This is what the French regard as the English way of 
preparing spinach, and thej call it £pinards & TAnglaise. 

Spirmch with Oraty (Epinards an jus.) — This is what 
the French regard as peculiarly their own method. It is 
the same as the foregoing, only that when dredged with 
flour it is at the same time moistened with some good gravy. 
Gbmish with fried crusts. 

Spinach with Cream — ^what paper-makers might call 
cream-laid. Use cream, or very good milk, instead of the 
gravy of the last receipt : otherwise there is no difference. 

Spinach and Potatoes make a good combination. Take 
a pound of each and make a pur^e of them, half and half, 
mix tiiem thoroughly, season them with salt, pepper, and 
nutmeg, add according to taste either gravy or cream, 
and finish them with three or four onnces of fresh butter, 
lliere is in this case to be no flour, the place of which is 
more than supplied by the potatoes. 

Spitchcock — sometimes SpatcbcocL The former is a 
name given to a broiled eel, &e latter to a broiled chicken; 
but it is ludicrous to see how the dictionary-makers flounder 
over the etjrmology. The first word comes from spit and 
cock, they say, or else from spit and oook ; the second comes 
from despatch and cock— a quick way of despatching a 
cock I The first syllable is in both words at root the same 



448 Sprats 

— namely, spit — which survives with a diversity of meaning 
in spud, and spade, and so accounts for the alteration of 
vowel. , In Somersetshire to spit is to dig — to use the 
spade ; and in Northamptonshire a spitch is a spadefuL 
But what is the last syllable ? Anybody will find it out 
who considers the meaning of the word. A spitchoock or 
a spatchcock is something — ^be it eel or chicken — spread 
out upon small spits or skewers, as kidneys are en hrochetUj 
for the purpose of being broiled. In modem, though not 
classical EngUsh, we should say that they are spitted. 
Our ancestors, however, had not this past participle; 
for having the verb to spit in another sense, they had 
not yet invented the culinary verb to spit. They fell 
back upon a circumlocution which still survives in the 
Dutch idiom. To spit or put on a spit is in Dutch aan een 
spit steken ; and spitted is spit gesteken. The old English 
parallel must have been to stick on a spit, and to be spit- 
stucken or spitstocken. In process of time the final syllable 
dropped off, and eels and chickens were said to be broiled, 
spitstuck or spitstock. Corrupt the t of the second syllable 
into c, which is very frequent, and there is spitscock or 
spitchcock all alive. 

Sprats and their euthanasia. The following receipt 
for turning sprats into roses — ^the sublime of cookery — 
is borrowed fiiom a private letter : — " Some time since 

C went to visit a friend in the country who had most 

marvellous roses in full bloom. Every one exclaimed at 
their beauty, and asked ^ How can you get such ? ' The 
gentleman who owned them was a man of few words, and 
only said — ^ Sprats.' It seems that he manured them with 
loads of stinking sprats. Not long afterwards a man called 
at my house with sprats. ^ Are they stinking ? ' said I, 
ea<yerly. ^ No,' said the man — ^ quite fresh.' ' Then bring 
me the first stinking ones you have.' In a few days he 
came with a heavy heairt, and offered me a large quantity 



Strawberries 449 



which had turned putrid on his hands. The result was that 
on a very small bush I had thirty-six blossoms all at once 
of magnificent Marshal Niels." 

Spring Soup. — A clear broth or double broth with 
early vegetables in it. See Brunoise and the introductory 
chapter. 

Stewing is the easiest form of cooking, for it is cooking 
at the lowest temperature possible. Easy though it be, it 
is difficult enough on ordinary kitchen fires, because of the 
great heat which they give out. The boiling point being 
212^, the stewing point is often as low as 170''; and this 
can only be well managed on the comer of the stove, or 
on cinders. There ought to be no difficulty with the im- 
proved ranges which are now in use. 

St. Germain — a name for green-pea soup. It differs 
from ordinary pea soup, or purie de pois, in being made of 
fresh peas, in token of which a few whole peas are gene- 
rally strewn on the surface. 

Stock is but another name for beef broth before it is 
finished into soups and sauces. 

Strawberries. — Nothing can surpass the method of 
eatinor strawberries with cream. The combination is not 
only delicious in itself, but carries with it the happiest 
remembrances of rural life and childish innocence. But 
cream is not always to be had, and some people are afraid 
of it. The Spaniards have another noble combination — 
moistening the strawberries with the juice of a sweet 
orange. There are gastrologers who go further, and say 
that an addition of orange-peel (by grating the zest with 
a lump of sugar) is an immense improvement ; and that 
it must have been in this fashion the fruit was served 
in the banquets of Mount Ida. 

*' Physicians concur in placing strawberries in th^ir small 

21^ 



450 Sturgeon 

catalogue of pleasant remedies. They dissolve the tar- 
tareous incrustations of the teeth. They promote per- 
spiration. Persons afflicted with the gout have found 
relief from using them ; so have patients in cases of the 
stone ; and Hoffinan states that he has known consumptive 
people cured by them.'' — Abercrombie, quoted by Loudon. 

Strawberry Pudding, — Mash a quart of strawberries 
with sugar to taste — probably three-quarters of a pound. 
Melt an ounce and a half of gelatine in rather less than a 
tumblerful of hot water, which, when cold, is to be mixed 
with the strawberries. Put it into a mould, surround it 
with ice till it sets and gets as cold as may be. Turn it 
out, and serve it with cream. ; 

STurriNG. — See Forcemeat 

Sturgeon. — It is some consolation to Englishmen, who | 

seldom see the sturgeon at their tables, that this royal, { 

although sharklike fish, has a wonderful resemblance to I 

veal. It is therefore to be larded, like veal, in the Cham- 
bord style, either with bacon, or with truffles and anchovies. 
It is then to be either roasted, baked or brazed, and served, 
like veal, with a pur^ of sorrel or of endive. It may also 
be stewed with excellent effect in a Mirepoix of white 
wine. Itj of course, means not the sturgeon (which some- 
times weighs more than a ton), but such a manageable 
portion of him as it may be possible to obtain. A slice 
from the back, with its taste of veal, has the preference. 
The belly part tastes of pork. 

It is said that when sturgeon are in season, no less than 
two-thirds of the female consists of roe. It is certainly 
odd to think of a fish weighing perhaps 1,000 pounds, 
being two-thirds made up of eggs. Here is life rushing 
into reproduction with a vengeance. At such a rate of 
reproduction the world would soon become the abode of 
sturgeons alone, were it not that the roe is exceedingly 



Supreme 45 1 

good, and the lovers of caviare are more general than 
Shakespeare knew. 

Sugar. — Every child understands the use of sugar in 
sweet dishes ; but the part which it plays in dishes which 
are not recognised as sweet is not too clearly taught. 
Th^re was a time, centuries ago, when soups and sauces 
were loaded with syrup, and when there was a kind of 
proverb that sugar in a dish was never a fault. The vast 
majority of cooks nowadays never clearly realize that in 
one form or another there must be sugar in all their soups 
and sauces. Not only will a pinch of sugar or a little 
caramel at the last make all the difference between a good 
and a bad soup or sauce — but those vegetables, carrots, 
turnips, parsnips, onions, celery, and the rest, which go for 
so much towards the goodness of soups and sauces — what 
are they but so many reservoirs of finely-flavoured sugar ? 
Always the cook has to calculate whether the vegetables 
which he puts into his messes are sufficiently saccharine ; 
and if they are not sufficiently saccharine, he has to make 
up for it by so many grains of palpable sugar. Take this, 
therefore, for a maxim — that the vegetable basket is the 
sugar-basin of the saucemaker. 

Supreme. — The supreme of a fowl or chicken is what is 
supposed to be the best part of it — the fillets. But we 
also hear of a Supreme sauce. Is there such a thing — as 
distinct from a Fricassee sauce or an AUemande ? The fact 
is, that cooks are not agreed as to how they shall name the 
chief white sauces. They are three. The chief of all is 
Velvet-down. Then there is Bechamel, which is half velvet- 
down, half cream. The third is named by some (Dubois 
and Bernard) Supreme ; by others, and the greater number, 
Allemande. If any of these sauces may be called Supreme, 
it should, by rights, be Velvet-down, which stands at the 
Lead of the list. 



4 5 - Sweat 

Sweat, To, is not a pretty phrase ; but it expresses 
clearly enough the act of making meat yield its juicers by 
being heated in a pan with little or no water. Necessarily 
the heat applied must be low and slow. 

Sweetbreads have to go through a -certain dressing 
before being cooked. They are to be soaked for an hour 
or more in lukewarm water, then blanched in cold water, 
then passed into boiling water — where they are to simmer 
until they become firm and fit for the larding needle, then 
cooled and dried, then pressed between baking-sheets into 
the proper rounded shape, then larded with strips of bacon 
about one-eighth of an inch thick. Put them next in a 
stewpan, with a pint of broth and a pinch of salt. Thicken 
the broth by reduction, then add another half-pint to it, 
and cover it up with live coals on the lid. From time to 
time baste the sweetbreads with the gravy, to glaze them. 
When they have taken a dark-brown tint, serve them on 
the dish, with the sauce poured over them, For garnish, 
choose between endive, sorrel, peas, and a Maeedon. 

Roasted Sweetbreads, — This is what the French set down 
as the Ria de veau a VAnglaUe, The sweetbreads being 
prepared as before, but not necessarily larded, are egged, 
then breadcrumbed, then sprinkled with oiled butter, then 
breadcrumbed again, then put into a flat tossing-pan, with 
two ounces of oiled butter, then baked in a quick oven for 
half an hour, with frequent basting from the butter in 
the pan. When of a golden-brown, dish them with a plain 
gravy or a tomato sauce, and garnish of vegetables as 
before. 

Syrup. — Only a word to explain that it is necessary to 
be accurate in the use of it — there are so many possible 
degrees of sweetness. There is a simple little instrument 
to measure these degrees known by the name of its in- 
ventor, Beaume. It is a sort of glass buoy with a measured 



Tariy Tartlet 453 



mast. In the bottom there is a bulb containing a certain 
weight of mercury. When this buoy is floated in pure 
water, it sinks to the top of the mast, and marks the 
highest, which is in fact the lowest degree. In syrup, 
according to its thickness, it rises ; and when the mast 
is entirely above the surface of the liquid the syrup is 
at its strongest Cetti and Co., of 11, Brooke Street, 
Holbom, supply these useful instruments for three 
shillings. 




[APIOCA is one of the best flavoured of the 
arrowroots. It is got from the same root 
which yields the so-called Brazilian arrow- 
root and the cassava bread. It would seem 
that Nature, when she planned the American conti- 
nent for the use of savages, must have been thinking a 
good deal of the over-civilised invalids of Europe — she has 
provided in the vegetation of the western world so much 
medicine, and so much nourishment for the ailments of the 
east It is a common belief that from America must come 
the regeneration of the world, and here at least is its tapioca 
admirable in giving substance to the soups and puddings 
of our invalid cookery. 

Tarragon is one of the most odoriferous of the pot- 
herbs, and belongs to the same family as Southernwood 
and Wormwood. The name is said to be equivalent to 
Dragon — the tortuous form of its roots suggesting the 
dragon's tail. It is a dragon much esteemed, and wagging 
its tail most agreeably in a green Mayonnaise, in a Bear- 
naise sauce, in a dish of chicken d Testragon, and in the 
ravigote which brightens many a salad. 

Tart, Tartlet. — Many people connect this word in 



454 Tarif Tartlet 



\ 



their minds with the adjective tart, imagine that it must 
have something to do with the tartness of fruit, and there- j 

fore identify it with a fruit pie. Under this hallucination 
they cease to speak of an apple pie — they insist on calling 
it an apple tart. A pie in their view is always for meat ; 
a tart is for fruit ; and some of the most popular cookery 
books have caught the delusion and done their best to 
spread it. A tart has nothing to do with tartness ; it is 
identical with the French taarte and tarte^ the old name 
for a kind of loaf, and with tartxne^ which still exists as 
a name for a slice of loaf. It is the Latin toria (from 
torqueo)j which answers nearly enough to our Boll of 
bread. Now, our fathers were in the middle ages rather 
deficient in plates, and it is curious to read of the little 
odd contrivances by which at grand feasts they tried to 
supply the want, and to make one plate do for two or three 
guests. Some genius discovered that the undercrust of 
bread would serve for a plate, and for a long period in 
France the undercrust of the tourte or tarte was the most 
common of dinner-plates — at which period a family were 
wont, after eating their dinner, to eat their dinner-plates. 
These dinner-plates, made of dinner rolls, were in course of 
time specially prepared, were made more cakelike, were 
filled with dainty food, and were called, according to their 
size, tarts or tartlets. The strict meaning of a tart, there- 
fore, is an open crust of the nature of a plate ; and it is to 
be hoped that after this explanation we shall not very often 
hear anybody call an apple pie an apple tart. 

A tart or tartlet being a fiat cake or crust, in form of a 
plate or dish, or little saucer, the question is how to make 
it. It can be made of any of the pastes described in the 
article on pastry ; but in England it is generally made of 
the lighter pastes, in France of the more solid. This is 
because in England, save in the case of tartlets, the cake 
is for the most part served with the dish on which it has 
been moulded, whereas in France the tourte is independ. 



Taste 455 

ent of its mould, and is in effect but the under part of a 
raised pie. It is best in most cases to bake the tart by 
itself, and to fill it afterwards. Thus a Vol-au-vent, but 
for its loose cover, would be a tart in the proper meaning 
of the word, and it is always prepared apart from its 
contents. At least it is essential that if the tart and its 
contents are to be baked together, the latter should have 
been to some extent cooked beforehand, otherwise they 
may be underdone while the former is overdone.- 

With regard to the contents, it is an imheard-of thing 
in England to put anything into a tart which is not sweet. 
The French tourte will take uny delicate stew — savoury 
as well as sweet, animal as well as vegetable. If English 
people would come to understand that tart, the noun, has 
nothing to do with tart, the adjective, they would then 
discover that a tart may be as various as a pie, and that 
there is no difference between the one and the other, save 
that which arises from the one being open and the other 
covered. A tart, in short, is but a kind of dinner-plate 
fit to receive almost any kind of food; but with this 
distinction — ^that it is a dinner-plate which may be eaten. 

Tartar Sauce, — This, whether it refers to catching a 
Tartar, or descending into Tartarus, is in effect the French 
ideal of a devilled sauce. A French devil is never hot 
like an English one — only a little pungent. Either a 
Mayonnaise or a Bemoulade may be taken as the basis of a 
Tartar sauce — ^the former being made of raw yolks, the 
latter of hard-boiled ones. The devilling comes of French 
mustard, or else English mustard with some addition of 
tarragon vinegar. The amount of bedevilment must 
depend on taste. It is usual, but not essential, to add a 
chopped ravigote. 

Taste is separated from the other senses by a curious 
difference. The others flourish by themselves alone, and 



456 Taste 

often attain their highest perfection when deprived of 
companionship. Hearing will become more acute with 
loss of sight, and touch more sensitive with deafness. 
But taste is made for marriage, and smell is its better half. 
It loses all its delicacy when it cannot mate with a fine 
olfactory nerve. Though thus deficient, it is by common 
consent chosen as the type of all that is most refined in 
human enjoyment — the warship of the beautiful This is 
a feather in the cook's cap. It is the business of his life to 
minister to the sense of taste — ^and taste is at once so fine 
and so potent that it is selected from all the senses to 
designate the standard of art and the power of detecting 
all that is loveliest in heaven and earth. We have one and 
the same name for the faculty which comprehends a sucking- 
pig and for that which delights in Beethoven — ^for the appre- 
ciation alike of a Strasbourg pie and of the Elgin marbles. 
The Greeks gave one and the same name to the palate and 
to heaven — Uranus. It \% very odd, however, to see how 
tastes differ in small things as well as in great, and how 
fierce are the controversies waged round a dinner-plate. 
He is an outer barbarian who does not agree with us about 
a leek or a peppercorn, a bit of pig's grease or a little 
oatmeal. If there were no religious wars to waste us, there 
would certainly be gastronomical ones ; and who knows 
but there is some hidden law which connects our creed 
with our food ? It has indeed been observed that in the 
great schism of the Reformation the people who held to the 
oil-jar and the wine-butt remained faithful to the Pope ; 
while those who drank good ale, and found in the keg of 
butter a sufiicient feast of fatness, nearly all turned 
Protestant. Philosophers have never adequately ex- 
plained, and it will probably remain a mystery to the end 
of time, how it comes that as in religion the wider difier- 
ences of dogma seldom excite wrath, while th6 earth is 
devastated by controversies about the smallest details — the 
spelling of a diphthong or the lighting of a taper, — so in 



Taste 457 

matters of taste we are not put out by great differences, 
but we wax furious over trifles. That an Eskimo should 
eat tallow candles ; that the Dutch should eat their pickled 
herring raw ; that the astronomer Lalande should enjoy the 
nutty taste of spiders ; that an Australasian savage should 
stock his larder with his dog and his 'wdfe ; that widows in 
the Andaman Islands should have the skulls of their late 
husbands nicely mounted, wear them dangling from their 
necks^ and use them as an English lady uses her bag, — are 
matters of taste which do not rouse in us a tenth part of 
the emotion produced by the suspicion of garlic in a sauce, 
by the use of a spoon instead of a fork, steel instead of 
silver. There is a characteristic anecdote told of the 
Reverend Father de Madot, who towards the end of the 
seventeenth century was appointed to the bishopric of 
Belley. When he went to take possession of his see, the 
people of Belley gave him a dinner. He partook of it with 
remarkable satisfaction ; but more especially seemed to 
enjoy a fondue of cheese, which gave a glory to the latter 
end of the feast. What was the surprise of his entertainers 
to see that the man of God ate it not with a fork but 
with a spoon! The company looked at each other with 
astonishment in the corners of their eyes, but they were 
too polite and reverential to say anything. Next day it 
was all over the town. " Do you know how the new 
bishop eats a fondue?" says one. '^Ah! my dear 
sir," says another, "it is quite true — I had it from an 
eye-witness — he eats it with a spoon." The tidings were 
soon wafted over the diocese, shook the minds of the faith- 
ful, and imperilled the Church. The impression produced 
was also a lasting one. A hundred years afterwards 
Brillat-Savarin (bom in that diocese) was told the story by 
one of his grand-uncles, who was consumed with laughter 
at the notion of a bishop eating fondue with a spoon. And 
so this worthy &ther in God, De Madot, is for ever known 
in the history of his country — not for his good works, his 



458 Teal 

prayers and his blessings — ^but only for the shocking act 
of eating fondue with a spoon ! 

Teal is surely the most delicate of all the wild water- 
fowl. For the way to dress him, see the Widgeon and the 
Wild Duck. 

Tench is of the carp clan, and is a doubtful fish to eat — 
very good and very bad. He likes to lose himself in mud 
and impurity, and then he is nasty to the taste. So it 
happens that the Italians malign him. When he has lived 
in good circumstances, in clear streams, he is quite another 
creature. He is done in all the ways prescribed for carp, 
but he has nearly always to be marinaded before cooking, 
and after the fire to be overpowered with a decided sauce. 
Try him as a matelote, or & la poulette. If he is to be 
grilled, fill him with anchovy butter and fine herbs, and 
serve him either with a puree of tomatos or with Sauce 
Robert, 

Dr. Badham in his Fishtattle makes a curious remark. 
" The skin (which from its thickness has procured for the 
tench in Holland the name of shoemaker) is a first-rate 
delicacy, and quite equal to turtle." Is this what the 
learned physician means by tattle ? 

Thunnt is the most illustrious of the Mediterranean fish, 
as salmon is the most illustrious of those which haunt our 
Northern waters. No one who has partaken of both can 
doubt the superiority of the salmon, not only to the thunny, 
but to all fish whatsoever. Yet note this as a tribute to the 
worth of the Mediterranean method of preserving fish in 
oil : that the tinned thunny which comes to London is much 
better than the tinned salmon which is preserved in vinegar 
and brine. The best part of the thunny, and much the best 
for pickling, is the belly. 

Probably, of all the fish in the sea, the thunny grows 
with the greatest rapidity. In four months from his birth 



Tomatos 459 

he will weigh more than two ponnds ; and he would be very 
much more abandant than he is, bnt that his mother has 
such an admiration for her eggs that she eats them the 
moment they become fertilized. Were it not for this 
infanticide^ the basin of the Mediterranean would be too 
small for the thunny population. 

I had almost forgotten to say that the thunny is a 
British fish — haunting the Cornish coast ; but the Cornish 
fishermen are not clever enough to catch it except by the 
merest chance. They have not hit upon a bait which will 
tempt this fish. 

Tipsy Cake is a Savoy Cake, with sherry poured over 
it, into which the juice of half a lemon has been mixed. 

Tomatos. — Tomato Sauce, — Take a pint of the pur^e of 
tomatos, either out of a tin or made from fresh tomatos, 
and put them in a stewpan with pepper, salt, a good pinch 
of sugar, a quarter of a pint of Mirepoix, a pint of gravy 
or broth, an ounce of flour, and one of butter. Let them 
simmer for three-quarters of an hour, then pass all through 
a sieve. 

Tomato Soup — is tomato sauce with three pints of 
gravy or broth in it instead of one. Add at the last some 
rice. 

Roast Tomatos, — Boast them well in a Dutch oven, and 
turn them often. Or bake them in a casserole, the bottom 
of which has been buttered. They ought to be ready in 
from ten to fifteen minutes, and to be served with roast 
mutton, or mutton chops and cutlets. 

Stuffed Tomatos, — Choose six or seven large and well- 
shaped ones ; cut open the tops and scoop out the insides 
carefully. Pass the pulp through a sieve to get rid of the 
pips, and mix with it about two ounces of butter (the 
French say oil), a chopped shalot, a chopped clove of 



460 Toss 

garlic, pepper and salt. Cook it for ten or fifteen minutes; 
then stir into it a small cupfnl of breadcrumbs which have 
soaked in broth, and the yolks of two eggs. When this 
is cold, fill the tomata skins with it, shake some fine bread 
raspings oyer them, and bake them briskly for ten or 
twelve minutes. 

Tomato Salad. — Divide the tomatos horizontally, and 
squeeze out the pips. Then cut up the halves and mix 
them with a cruet sauce. For the tomato salad a dash of 
mustard is not a bad addition, but the tomatos being juicy 
in themselves, require less than the usual quantity of oil 
and vinegar. For garniture, some chopped spring onions 
or chives. One or two tomatos, Qut up as above described, 
make an excellent addition to a salad of cos-lettuce. 

Toss. — This is the English for SaiUer, which see. To 
toss is to fry very lightly; and the tossing is necessary 
in order both to equalise the heat and to keep it down* 
Frying proper on. a steady fire evolves a roasting heat. 
Tossing is, so to speak, opposed to frying. It is to fry and 
not to fry. It is an attempt to produce some of the effects 
of frying, and not the others. It is to fry without pro- 
ducing the brittle sur&ce of frying, 

Toulouse Ragout. — See Relish No. I. 

TouRNEDOS. — This word will not be found in any French 
dictionary as applied to an articfe of food. Yet it is of 
constant use in the French kitchen, and multiplies itself in 
bills of fare. It really means a smalt collop of beef which 
can be done almost while the cook turns his back. It is 
at least a much better word than- the escalopes which the 
French cooks are so fond of, and which really means 
nothing at all. A toumedos is a thin collop, which is put 
upon the fire and is done on one side before the cook has 
had time to turn round. He turns it over on the other side, 
w^hich is cooked in the same way in a twinkling. The 



Truffles 461 

tournedos is first steeped for twenty-four hours in a 
cooked marinade^ it is lightly fried^ and it is served with a 
Poiyrade or a Spanish sauce. 

TouRTE is the French way of spelling Tart. 

Trifle, — Mix early in the day a quart of good cream 
with six ounces of sifted sugar, a glass of sherry, the juice 
and zest of a lemon, and a little cinnamon. Whip it well, 
and put the froth, as it rises, on a reversed sieve to drain. 
As the time draws near for using the trifle, put some sponge 
cakes, ratafias, and the like, on a deep glass or crystal dish. 
Moisten them well with sherry, grate the zest of a lemon 
on them, and add a layer of raspberry or strawberry jam. 
. Pour over them a goodly quantity of thick custard ; heap 
over this the whipt cream ; and ornament it with colour — 
petals of flowers, harlequin comfits, or streaks of red jelly. 

Trout. — The best are the salmon-trout, and they are to 
be cooked in any of the ways allowed for sahnon. Some 
English cooks lay down a peremptory law that a trout is 
never to be boiled. This is a mistake. The char is a 
trout, and Francatelli has declared, with perfect justice, 
that it is the best of all fish for a waterzootje. The smaller 
trout, however, may well be fried or grilled. The larger 
ones on being boiled take kindly to a good court bouillon. 
Let it never be forgotten that the Grenevese sauce was 
invented for the good of trout. 

Truffles. — It is time that the truth should be spoken 
about truffles. The French praise them in high-flown 
terms, which are not in the least extravagant. The 
English, praising them in the selfsame terms, ^are very 
extravagant indeed. When truffles are to be had fresh (and 
they are in perfection with the turkeys at Christmas-tide), it 
seems too much to believe that they have come out of the 
earth and have been detected in their hiding-places by the 



462 Truffled 

snouts of pigs. They are beyond praise in the perfection 
of their perfume. But once unearthed the perfume soon 
fades, and by the time they reach London it becomes so 
faint that if the truffles are not quickly disposed of they 
are scarce to be recognised as the sublime of human food. 
What they lose in perfume they gain in price, and dealers 
in London demand twelve and fifteen shillings a pound 
for them« A bottle no bigger than one of those used for 
hyacinth bulbs, containing preserved truffles, which are 
not to be compared with fresh ones, is sold at half a guinea. 
Now when we know that some French cooks require six 
or eight pounds of truffles for a single dish, we can all 
calculate whether a truffle in England is worth its price, 
and we shall not be astonished at the tale told by Mr. 
Hay ward of a magnificent turkey stuffed with truffles by ' 
Morel and sold for something like £20. Common sense 
tells us that a fresh mushroom gathered in English fields 
and woods, and well cooked, is worth more than all but a 
sprinkling of the truffles which cross the Channel ; but, all 
the same, fashion is omnipotent, and a cook who should 
abstain from cramming his sauces with essence of truffles, 
and from adorning his meats with slices of them, would be 
regarded as ignorant of his business, and fit only for the 
lowest of low life. Let it be observed that much as the 
truffle is vaunted, the civilised world has continued to do 
without it until very recently. It was, indeed, known to 
the Romans; but, says BriUat-Savarin, " from the Romans 
to our own day there is a long interregnum, and the resur- 
rection of the truffle is recent enough. One may even say 
that the generation which is now (1826) passing away, 
has been witness of it." 

Truffles in a Napkin. — ^Wash and brush them several 
times in cold water. Then stew them slowly in a Mirepoix 
of white wine for half an hour or three-quarters. Drain 
them and serve them in a folded napkin. 



Turbot 463 

Truffes a Vltalienne. — ^Wash and brush them well as 
before, cat them in slices, and toss them for ten minutes 
with an ounce of butter, chopped parsley, shalot, and salt. 
Pour off the butter, and in return put in a piece of fresh 
butter, with a ladleful of the best brown gravy, the juice 
of a lemon, and a sprinkling of cayenne. This is in effect 
but a variety of the Duxelles originally invented by 
La Yarenne, only substituting truffles for mushrooms. 

Turbot has been described as the pheasant of the sea, 
and is certainly the noblest of the flat fish. According to 
Yarrell, the great actor and gastronomer Quin ^*is said 
to have given it as his opinion that the flesh on the 
dark-coloured side of the turbot is the best meat ; and as 
examples occasionally occur that are dark-coloured on 
both sides, some London fishmongers, from experience 
in their good qualities, recommend such fish as deserving 
particular attention." 

Boiled Turbot. — Let the turbot soak for some little time 
in cold salt and water, to remove the slime. Then with a 
knife make an incision down the backbone on the black 
side, — which is the upper one of the fish in the sea, but its 
under one on the dish. The object of this cut is to pre- 
vent the white skin cracking when the turbot begins to 
heat and to swell in the kettle. It is to be boiled in plenty 
of cold salt and water — nothing else. Let it come gradually 
to tiie boil and then let it simmer for half an hour or so. 
The time of course is less for a small or chicken turbot, 
or for one of those slices into which a turbot cuts up with 
ease. In the French receipts an order is often given to cut 
off the fins — that is, the best part of the fish — and to boil 
it in milk; which sounds well, but is a mistake. When the 
turbot is ready, dish it on a hot napkin and strew on it 
and about it parsley leaves and nasturtium flowers. It 
may be garnished with potatoes, and it is to be served with 
Dutch, B^rnaise, lobster, or shrimp sauce. 



4^4 Turkey 

Turbot a la Normande. — The Normandy Matelote of 
Turbot. It is done precisely as the sole of the same 
name. 

Turbot with Cream au Gratin, — Break up some cold 
turbot, removing the black skin, perhaps also the white. 
Make it hot in some B^hamel sauce, which is half cream. 
Arrange fish and sauce upon a dish which will stand the fire. 
Strew over it some breadcrumbs and some grated Parme* 
san. Also put round it a border of mashed potatoes. Put 
it into the oven or before the fire to take a golden tint, 
and if necessary use the salamander. 

Turkey. — " H faut gtre deux," said the Abb^ Morellet, 
" pour manger une dinde trufi*(^e ; je ne fais jamais autre- 
ment. J'en ai une aujourd'hui ; nous serons deux, la 
dinde et moi.'* As it takes nearly two or three pounds of 
truSles to stuflF a turkey well, and as truffles are worth 
twelve or fifteeen shillings a pound, it is not every one 
who can afibrd such a luxury. The turkey, however, is 
excellent with much less costly stuffing, as &t forcemeat or 
chestnuts — see Forcemeats Nos. 5 and 8. If the turkey 
is roasted, it must be constantly basted, or it will be very 
dry. The French nearly always bard it to prevent its 
drying up. They are also partial to a brazed turkey. 
Put it into a brazing-pan, with an abundant Mirepoix, 
made with Madeira as the cooks say — which means 
Marsala. The boiled turkey is rarely seen out of Engird. 
For garnish and sauce, the English seem most to enjoy 
sausages with a meat gravy or ^ith celery sauce. A roast 
turkey with a garnish of sausages goes by the name of an 
Alderman in chains. The French, for sauce and garnish, 
delight in a P^rigueux sauce, and the rich garnish of a 
Chipolata Eagout. See Relish No. 4. 

Turn. — To turn vegetables is to cut them into various 
shapes — ^as bullets, olives, dice, <xQrks, discs, orange-flakes. 



Turtle 465 

Turnips. — There are rich juicy kinds, which the 
Russians eat raw as a whet before dinner. In England 
we go to the other extreme, and the most common form 
in which the turnip comes to table is thoroughly well 
boiled and mashed. , 

Madied Turnips. — Peel, slice, and boil half a dozen 
turnips. Drain them, pass them iiirough a sieve, and then 
mixing them with flour, nutmeg, pepper, salt, a pat of 
butter, and a little glaze, stir them over the fire for ten 
mioutes. 

Younff Turnips. — Peel them, make nice shapes of them^ 
and blanch them for five minutes. Then fry them with a 
little butter, dredge them with flour, and moisten them 
with broth. Let them cook very slowly for twenty 
minutes, and add to them some Allemande sauce with a 
pinch of sugar. The French sometimes touch them up at 
the last with some of their mustard. 

Turnover — the name of a pasty made in very simple 
fashion. Boll out a sheet of paste : cut out a circle in it 
This, when doubled over so as to form a semicircle, with 
fruit or mincemeat inside, is the Turnover. 

Turtle. — The Soup is the most elaborate of all, and 
quite beyond the reach of ordinary households. It must 
be purchased ready made. For the Turtle Ragout or Relish, 
used chiefly with calf s head, see Relish No. 3. 

Mock Turtle Soup. — Clear: After FrancatellL First 
bone and then parboil a calTs head in plenty of water 
and a small handful of salt for about twenty minutes. 
Cool the head in cold water and then trim away the rough 
parts. Next place it in a large stewpan with a good-sized 
knuckle of veal ; about a pound of raw ham ; two car- 
rots ; two onions — one of them stuck ^ith twelve cloves ; 
a head of celery, a bunch of basil ; marjoram, lemon thyme, 
a sprig of common thyme, some parsley, winter savorv, 

30 



466 Turtle 

spring onions, and two blades of mace. Add a quart of 
good stock, and set the stewpan over the fire to boil 
sharply, nntil the liquid is reduced to a glaze. Next fill up 
the stewpan either with stock or water, and when it boils 
again skim it carefidly, keeping it gently boiling by the 
side of the fire until the calfs head is nearly done. The 
head must now be carefully lifted out of the stock with a 
skimmer, and after being washed in a large pan of cold 
water, and well drained upon a sieve or cloth^ placed in 
press, between two large dishes in the larder to become 
cold. The calf's head stock is now to be strained into a dean 
stewpan through a sieve, and the grease being entirely re- 
moved from its surface, to be clarified by mixing into it three 
whites of eggs previously whipt with a pint of cold water. 
Set the stock on the fire, whisk it until it boils, and then 
lift it to the side of the stove, there to boil gently until it 
has become bright, which will take about twenty minutes. 
The stock must now be strained through a napkin into a 
soup-pot ; the calfs head cut into pieces an inch square, 
and placed in the mock turtle stock, to which add half a 
pint of white wine (Marsala), a pinch of cayenne, and then 
allow the soup to boil gently by the side of the fire until 
the pieces of meat are thoroughly done. When about to 
send to table add some very small quenelles or egg balls and 
a little lemon-juice. 

Mock. Turtle Soup. — Thick Prepare this as in the fore- 
going receipt up to the point when the head has been 
placed in press, and the stock has been strained into a fresh 
stewpan. To the stock add about a pound and a half 
of roux, and stir it over the fire until it boils ; then set it 
on the side of the stove to simmer gently, and to throw up 
all grease, etc., which must be skimmed off. Strain the 
stock next through the pointed strainer, into a soup-pot, add 
the calf s head in pieces, and proceed as before. 



Vanilla 



467 




|DDER is not over-abundant in the market ; 
for heifers are too valuable to be killed, and 
cow-beef is not greatly prized at the butcher's. 
When the ndder of veal can be obtained it 
is mostly used for kromeskis. It is to be plain-boiled 
with salt, allowed to cool, and then cut into slices to wrap 
round the croquette, which thus becomes a kromeski. 
It is also used instead of butter for the more delicate 
forcemeats — as quenelles. In days of old, however, it 
appears that cow-udder had a recognised position in French 
cookery. It was well washed ; it was soaked in water for 
hours, to clear it of blood ; it was then blanched ; then 
trimmed ; then boiled with a good seasoning of vegetables; 
then allowed to get cool ; lastly, cut up and prepared for 
table in any of the ways applicable to tripe. 




(ANILLA, when discovered by the Spaniards, 
had an unpronounceable name — tlilxochitl. 
The Spaniards, in despair, called it vainilla 
or baynilla — ^a little pod {vaina or hayna). 
It is an orchid — ^and being the only orchid of direct 
use to the human race, it takes rank as the most impor- 
tant of all. It is a parasitical plant, twining upon trees 
to their topmost branches, like ivy. The best is to be 
found in Mexico ; but it also grows in Honduras, Guiana, 
Brazil, Peru. It is also cultivated in Ceylon. The fruit 
has a powerful odour, which is said to intoxicate the 
labourers who climb the trees to gather it. This odour, 
which belongs to the cinnameine series, and whidi it shares 
with a varieiy of vegetables, is said to be derived from the 
benzoic acid, which is so abundant in the fruit as when 



468 Vatcl 

dried to effloresce upon it in fine needles; but Pereira 
declares that the precise nature of the odorous principle 
has not been satisfactorily made out. Be that as it may, it 
is doubtful whether vanilla would have for its mere odour, 
which can easily be imitated, the extraordinary acceptance 
which it now enjoys. It is supposed to have extraordinary 
virtues, to promote digestion, to exhilarate the mind, to 
increase muscular energy, and, in a large dose, to be one 
of the most powerful aphrodisiacs. Very little, however, 
of the best kind comes to Europe. When ripe the fruit 
yields from two to six drops of a liquid with an exquisite 
odour, which is «aid to possess the above-named virtues 
in perfection ; but not a drop of it comes to this side of 
the Atlantic. Four sorts of vanilla come to the Enfflish 
market, in packets of from 'fifty to one hundred pods. 
The best comes from Mexico ; hut the consignment is not 
more than five or six hundredweight, and it is so precious 
that a pound weight of it is worth £5 or £6. It may be 
imagined that so rare a commodity is not used for 
flavouring penny ices. The other three sorts come from 
Honduras, La Guayra, and Brazil. They are at once more 
feeble and less delicate ; and the balsam of Pern is also 
used to simulate the true odour of vanilla. 

Vatel was a great cook ; but he did more for his art by 
his death than ever he did in his life. He was the house- 
steward (maitre d'h6tel) of the Prince of Cond^ ; and all 
that we know of his touch in cookery is based on guess. 
But Vatel's death is the greatest event in the whole history 
of cookery since Prometheus stole fire from heaven. When 
the mythic hero stole that fire from the gods, he made 
cookery possible ; when Vatel stabbed himself in the royal 
castle of Chantilly, he at once and for ever vindicated for 
cookery its position among the noble arts. The Prince of 
Cond^ was entertaining Louis XIV. and hifi court at 
Chantilly \ and Vatel had to superintend all the prepa- 



Vatel 469 

rations, from the roast meats to the fireworks, Throngh 
some mischance^ on the evening of the King's arrival the 
roast was wanting at two of the tables ; and when night 
came, the fireworks, which had cost 16,000 francs, failed 
— as they often will'. Vatel was troubled in spirit, and 
refiised to be comforted. Next morning he rose at four, 
determined to attend to everything himself. He found 
everybody asleep. Soon afterwards he met one of the 
purveyors with two packages of sea-fish. " Is that all?" 
said Vatel. " Yes, sir,'^ was the reply. The man was not 
aware that Vatel had sent to all the seaports. The other 
purveyors did not arrive by eight o'clock. Vatel's brain 
began to bum : he believed there would be no more fish, 
and that the failure of the roast and the fireworks would 
be followed by that of the turbot. " I shall never survive 
this disgrace," he said. He went up to his room, placed 
his sword against the door, and stabbed himself to the 
heart. Soon the fish arrived from all quarters : they 
sought Vatel for orders ; they weijt to his room ; they 
knocked ; they forced open the door ; they found him 
bathed in blood. Few events have created a profounder 
sensation than this tragedy, which has ever since in the 
gastronomical world invested the date, 24th April, 1671, 
with a melancholy interest. The Prince of Cond^ wept, 
and Madame de S^vign^, who tells the story, describes 
^Me grand Vatel" as a man of genius, with head enough 
to direct a state. When a man of such distinction could 
kill himself for a turbot which he could not provide to his 
satisfaction for a king's table, the world began to see that 
the art of the kitchen might engage minds of rare capacity ; 
and that if there are cooks beneath contempt, there are 
others not unworthy to rank with great artists, and to fiit 
among the Muses. 

A few years afterwards died the great French Marshal 
Turenne. Let the reader calmly lay his hand upon his 
heart and say — Did Turenne do more for France or for 



4 70 Veal 

tlie happiness of mankind with his b&ton than Yatel of 
the turbot with his glorious ladle? Turenne's name is 
in all the histories of France and in all the biographical 
dictionaries. It is only a few years since that the great 
name of Vatel was for the first time admitted into any 
biographical dictionary. 

Veal. — When Dr. Lister, who was one of Queen Anne's 
physicians, went to Paris in the beginning of last century, 
he declared that the French might have beef and mutton 
equal to ours — but we have far the best veal in Europe. 
The judgment now must be reversed. There is no beef 
or mutton that will take the prize from that produced in 
England ; but the English veal is not great, and has no 
pretension to be compared with that of France. This is 
the fault, not of the calf but of the butcher, who bleeds the 
animal a little at a time for days before it is slaughtered, 
and tortures it by hanging its head dowTiwards to drain 
the blood more perfectly. The result is that the veal comes 
to table very white, like the wing of a chicken — but it is 
also too often tasteless and stringy. The truth is that the 
treatment of veal is not well understood in England, and 
it is only in England that people have turned it into a 
byword. Macaulay hated Croker with a mortal hatred. 
His detestation expressed itself in the phrase — " I hate him 
worse than cold boiled veal." There is another well-known 
saying, but it is not his — that to eat veal is as insipid as 
kissing one's sister. 

Veal Broth. — See Soup and Blonde de Veau. 

Veal Gravy. — See Gravy. 

Boiled VeaL — A nation that refuses to eat boiled beef 
(that is, fresh boiled beef), which after bread is the staple 
food of France and Germany, can yet bring itself to set 
down among its dainty dishes boiled veaL Well might 
Macaulay exclaim against it ! Veal is not fit to eat unless 



Veal 47 1 

a roasting heat in some form or other is brought to bear 
upon it ; and no receipt shall here be given for boiled veal. 
The same interdict applies to stewed veal, except in those 
cases when, as in brazing, the process of stewing can be 
combined with that of roasting. In the list of stews 
which follow, the veal is part baked, fried, or in some way 
roasted. 

Brazed Veal. — By rights this should be done in a 
brazing-pan, with live coals on the lid, so that the meat 
may be baked on the upper side while being stewed under^ 
neath. The same effect may be produced more simply by 
taking three or four pounds of veal — be it loin, fillet, or 
breast— freeing it from bone, tying it up, and frying it in 
a stewpan with an ounce of butter until it has a golden 
tint all over. After that, stew it for an hour and a half* 
in a quart of broth, with a carrot, an onion, a faggot of 
sweet-herbsl, pepper and salt. Then serve it, straining the 
^ravy, skimming off the fat, and adding some lemon-juice. 
Gramish it with sorrel, endive, or spinach. 

Veal in its own gravy (Veau k la Bourgeoise, ou dans 
son jus). — This is anoiiier form of brazed veal, and must 
be done very slowly. Take the cushion of veal and pass it 
in butter till it colours well. Then put with it a tumblerful 
of water, two or three onions, two or three carrots, a faggot 
of sweet-herbs, pepper and salt. Put a tight lid on, and 
live embers on the lid. Let it simmer as slowly as possible 
for three hours on the comer of the stove. Skim away the 
fat, and serve it with lemons. 

Spring Stew of Veal. — Miss Acton's receipt " Cut two • 
pounds of veal free from fat into small collops half an 
inch thick ; flour them well, and fry them in butter, with 
two small cucumbers sliced, peppered, and floured, one 
moderate-sized lettuce, and twenty-four green gooseberries 
divided lengthwise and seeded. When the whole is nicely 
browned, lift it into a thick saucepan, and pour gradually 



472 Veal 

into the frying-pan from which it has been taken half a 
pint or rather more of boiling water, broth, or gravy. Add 
pepper and salt. Give it a minute's simmering, and then 
pour it over the meat in the saucepan. Let the veal stew 
gently for from three-quarters of an hour to an hour. A 
bunch of green onions cut small may be added to the other 
vegetables." 

Veal in a Mirepoix, — Tiake a cushion of veal, and lard 
•it or not at pleasure. Put it in a glazing stewpan with 
half a pint of Mirepoix of white wine, which is to be 
well reduced. Moisten it again with a pint of the 
like Mirepoix and three gills of veal stock. Cook it for 
two hours, basting the meat frequently, and glaze it a 
quarter of an hour before it is done. Prepare a garnish 
of endive ; put it on a dish with the veal upon it Skim 
the fat off the gravy, pass it through a sieve into a sauce- 
boat, and serve it with the meat. 

Veal h la Marengo. — See Chicken. 

Fricandeau of Veal. — See Fricandeau. 

Roa^t VeaL — The most usual pieces for this purpose are 
the fillet, the loin, the neck, and the breast; and it is always 
best to stuff them (using Forcemeat No. 5), though some- 
times the loin is made an exception to this rule. As veal 
takes long to roast — ^a fillet requiring from three-and-a-half 
to four-and-a-half hours, it is often, either in whole or in 
part, enveloped in buttered paper, lest the fat should all 
melt away and the outer surface be too much done. In 
this case the paper must be removed a little while before 
' the roasting is complete, and the joint must be dredged 
with flour, basted with fresh butter, and frothed, before it 
is dished up. Serve round it for a sauce some English 
butter sauce which has been coloured with browning and 
acidulated with lemon-juice. Serve at the same time in a 
dish apart some boiled bacon or Bath chap, with greens. 
For a variety, instead of the melted butter or English 



Veal 473 

sauce, garnish the roast with the Financier's or the 
Toulouse Ragout. (See Relishes Nos. 1 and 2.) 

Roast Veal h la Crime, — When, as described in the 
fore-going receipt, the buttered paper is to be removed 
from the joint about twenty minutes before it is completely 
roasted, it is no more to be basted with butter, but either 
with a pint of rich cream, or of Bechamel, which is half 
cream. This will form upon the roast a delicate golden 
crust, which must be carefully handled in transferring the 
veal from the spit to its dish. For a sauce, take some 
Bechamel, mix with it the brown which has fallen from 
the roast in basting it with cream, and some stewed button 
mushrooms, together with their juice. 

Veal Cutlets, — In England the most common way of 
cooking them is called the French way. In France it is 
called the English way. It is also called k la Zingara. 
The cutlets are taken from the back ribs or loin; or some- 
times they are simply small collops from the fillet. But 
there is not a word to be said against the small cutlets 
from the neck. Let them be nicely trimmed and freed 
from fat, egged, breadcrumbed and fried. It is the egging 
and breadcrumbing that is supposed to be peculiarly 
English. Let there be slices of bacon or else of tongue to 
correspond in number with the cutlets — the bacon to be 
grilled or fried, the tongue to be heated in stock. For a 
sauce, take the butter in which the cutlets have fried, 
dredge it with fiour, and add to it a little broth and juice 
of mushrooms, together with lemon-juice and salt. In the 
French way of doing these cutlets — k la Zingara — they 
are fried without being egged and breadcrumbed. 

Veal CiUlets broiled. — This is the true French way — the 
most simple of all. Take a cutlet from the neck ; trim it 
well of bone, gristle, and skin, and flatten it with a cutlet 
bat Sprinkle it with pepper and salt, brush it with oil 
or melted butter, and send it to the grill. If this cutlet 



474 ^^^ 

should have to be breadcrumbed^ it is rolled in crumbs 
after being smeared with oil or melted butter ; and & 
France no eggs are used for this purpose. With the 
cutlet — thus broiled — ^may be served a piece of maitre 
d'h6tel butter, some tomato sauce, or a sharp sauce. 

Veal Cutlets o/Dreux, — It is not very much to the credit 
of veal that it has to be in most cases combined carefully 
with savoury adjuncts — forcemeat, bacon, tongue. The 
cutlets of Dreux are larded with bacon, tongue, and 
truffles ; fried for two or three minutes in butter ; then 
stewed in a Mirepoix of white wine further diluted with 
an equal quantity of veal broth. Serve the cutlets on a 
pur^e of sorrel or of turnips, or on French beans ; then 
skim the gravy, and strain it over all. 

Veal Cutlets a la MUanaise are generally breadcrumbed 
— either in the French way without, or in the English 
way with, eggs. They are then fried or tossed in butter. 
In being served they are garnished with slices of truffle 
and of tongue (the latter punched into rounds), and — most 
important of all — with macaroni which has been tossed for 
a moment with grated cheese ; and a little tomato sauce 
plays round the disL 

Veal Pie, — Take the back ribs or neck, get rid of all 
bone — which should never enter into a pie — and trim the 
meat into small collops. At the same time cut some 
streaky bacon into thin slices. Fry the veal and the bacon 
with a faggot of Duxelles in about an ounce of butter. 
Then lay them in order in a pie-dish intermixed with 
forcemeat balls and hard-boiled yolks of egg — it may be 
also with a scalded sweetbread cut into pieces. Let all be 
seasoned with pepper and salt, and moistened with half a 
pint of gravy, to which the juice of half a lemon may be 
added. Cover it with paste ; bake it for an hour or an 
hour and a quarter ; and when the pie is done, lift the 
top ornament and pour in some good gravy. 



Vegetables 475 



There is much more, of coarse, to be said of veal under 
other names — as Calfs Head, Calf s Foot, Liver, Heart, 
Sweetbread. 

Vegetables. — There are no finer vegetables to be found 
anywhere than in England ; and the English do not know 
how to eat them. The weak point of an English dinner is 
always the vegetables. Some persons might fix upon the 
made dishes as most wanting — but this would be wrong, 
seeing that we could have a very good dinner without, a 
single made dish. As far as animal food can go, there are 
some dimiers quite perfect, with a good soup, a little plain- 
boiled fish, and roast meat or game — ^but the dinner fails 
because the vegetables are at fault. There are some good 
remarks on this matter in the Original (see No. xix.). " I 
have observed," says Walker, "that whenever the vegetables 
are distinguished for their excellence, the dinner is always 
particularly enjoyed ; and if they were served with each 
dish, as they are most appropriate and fresh from the 
dressing, it would be a great improvement on the present 
style. With some meats something of the kind is prac- 
tised — as peas with duck, and beans with bacon — and such 
combinations are generally favourites; but the system 
might be much extended, and with great advantage. With 
respect to variety of vegetables, I think the same rule 
applies as to other dishes. I would not have many sorts 
on the same occasion, but would study appropriateness and 
particular excellence. This is a matter for study and com- 
bination, and a field for genius. It is a reasonable object 
for attention, as it is conducive to real enjoyment, and has 
nothing to do with mere display." This is very true ; and 
to the eve of the initiated nothins: can be more ridiculous 
than to see an English dinner-plate heaped up with a con- 
fusion of vegetables, none of them too well dressed except 
the potato — which is always present, and generally good. 
Do those English worthies who cannot now eat a morsel 



47^ Vegetables 

of food unless accompanied with a potato ever try to 
imagine what dinners were two centuries ago, when potatoes 
were as rare as truffles? 

The great sin, however, of the English treatment of 
vegetables goes much deeper than Walker indicates ; and 
it is a moral fault, as well as one of taste — a great social 
wrong, as well as a gastronomical blunder. Take the 
general run of English tables, putting out of account the 
very poor and the highly refined : from year's end to 
year's end one will probably never on a single day see 
there a vegetable dish to be eaten by itself alone. This is 
a political error ; for there is many a poor man obliged 
most days to dine on vegetables with nothing else; 
and our sleek middle-classes protest every day of their 
lives against this fare for themselves — they will never con- 
descend to eat a vegetable by itself. A fine example for 
their servants, who are taken from the poorer classes ; and 
a fine thought for the peasantry to know that not only will 
their masters refuse a vegetable dinner — but also they will 
never look at a vegetable as a thing to be eaten by itself ! 
Scorn of the peasants' food is all the more remarkable inas- 
much as a vegetable dish may be the greatest delicacy of 
the table. This is one of the advantages which the Catholic 
religion has contrived for the French : it has compelled 
them to make the best of Lenten fare. In England this 
is flat popery ; but it is a species of popery to which 
the poor man is obliged to submit, and to which we ought 
all to be converted. At a French table the vegetable dish 
at the end of dinner is as much coveted and counted on as 
the pudding and the tarts are by children at an English 
table. Almost the only vegetable which Englishmen eat 
by itself is the artichoke, and this entirely because it cannot 
be put on their plates with meat and eaten with a fork — 
they have to strip it with their fingers. There is something 
in asparagus^ too, which conduces to the same arrangement ; 
but if, by possibility, an Englishman can get the asparagus 



Vegetable Marrow 477 



on the same plate with his meat, depend upon it he will. 
He is not going to eat vegetables alone — not he I 

Take this for a certainty: the greatest single step in 
advance for the English family dinner is to decree that 
regularly every day, either in addition to the pudding or in 
lieu of it, there shall be a dish of vegetables nicely prepared. 
It is not a difficult thing to do ; and there is an immense 
choice from the range of salads to asparagus, artichokes, 
potatoes, cauliflowers, sprouts, peas, kidney beans, vege- 
table marrows, and thence again to rice and Indian com. 
Let the cook stick to her broils and her roasts— «he probably 
cannot in the way of meat do better ; but let her superadd to 
her small modicum of accomplishments the very simple craft 
of cooking vegetables in such a manner that with their own 
fine flavour they can be eaten by themselves. This is a 
very little thing to ask for — but the results will be found 
to be immense. 

Vegetablb Marrow is little more than fifty years old 
in England — not appearing in the market before 1819. It 
came from Persia, where the gourds are in perfection ; 
but no one seems to know who brought us the seeds. 
Whoever brought them made a noble gift to his country. 
Of all the gourds in Europe the latest known, it is in 
England the most cultivated. It is, indeed, more prized 
in England than in any other European country, and «an 
be obtained so cheaply that it is in great favour with the 
poor as well as with the rich, It is a watery vegetable 
without much nutriment, but it has a fine mellow flavour ; 
and at the end of dinner, when we want something light 
to play with, its juicy slices make a delicious entremet. 
The simplest way of preparing it is the best. Boil it, 
divide it lengthwise, remove the pips, and serve it with the 
English butter sauce. 

Soup for the Shah. — It is to be hoped that the land of 
vegetable marrows sometimes makes a dish of them for the 



478 Velvet-down 



Shah en Shah — king of kings. Take some dear broth ; 
mix with it a mash of the vegetable marrow ; strew upon 
it fried crusts, with a few peas or asparagus points, to 
represent the emeralds and topazes which the Persians 
love : and there is a soup fit for the Shah himself. 

Vblvet-down. (Gouff^'s receipt, slightly altered.) — 
Take six pounds of veal and two hens with the fillets cut 
off. Put them into a stewpan "^ith a quart of stock for 
ever}' pound of veal and fowl combined. Boil it; skim it; 
add to it two sliced onions, two carrots, a faggot of sweet- 
herbs, a little salt, mignonette pepper and sugar ; and 
simmer all till the meat is cooked, when the stock should 
be strained through a napkin and freed from fat Mix, 
without browning, three-quarters of a pound of clarified 
butter with the same quantity of flour ; add the stock to 
it ; stir it on the fire till it boils ; then simmer it on the 
stove comer for two hours to reduce it to a cullis ; get rid 
of all grease, and pass it through a tammy. 

Mock Velvet'doum, — Practically, this is a variation of 
what is called white-wine sauce, used with fish. One 
way of making it has been already described in treating 
of the Sole au vin blanc and the white Matelote, in 
both of which the thickening is produced by yolk of 
egg. In this case the thickening is made with white 
roux, and the result more nearly approaches in cha- 
racter to velvet-down ; while at the same time the white 
wine in it gives it a special distinction. Mix together on 
the fire, without browning, four ounces of butter and four 
of flour. Moisten it with half a pint of plain white broth 
or of fish broth, and with another half-pint of French 
white wine. Add to it a chopped shalot, an onion, a faggot 
of sweet-herbs, some salt, and a little nutmeg. Boil it 
rapidly for fifteen minutes, so as to reduce it well, but 
taking care not to brown it in the least. Pass it through 
a tammy, and it is ready. 



Venison 479 

Venetian Sauce. — This is an utterly useless name; but 
it sometimes occurs and must be explained. It is difficult 
to say wherein it diflFers from the Poulette sauce, and we 
have seen that the Poulette sauce differs little from AUe- 
mande or G^erman sauce. The Venetian may be described 
as an Allemande made verdant with chopped parsley — to 
remind one of the green sUme of the lagoons. 

Venison is one of the commonest of meats in Paris ; 
but then it is roebuck venison, which is of small account 
in England. Nobody who can command Southdown or 
Scotch mutton in this country will ever condescend to 
roebuck, a leg of which has to be larded before it has any 
value. It is a common remark in England, indeed, that 
good mutton, if it can be had four or five years old, is 
equal and more than equal to the only venison which is 
prized here — that of the fallow deer, cultivated in parks. 
Even of this fallow deer, the doe has no repute, and it is 
only the buck, while it is in season, from June to Michael- 
mas, that attracts the regard of a connoisseur. The red 
deer of the Scottish Highlands is, in honour of its prowess^ 
eaten with rejoicing by those who stalk it ; but it is coarse 
of texture, rank of flavour, and not to be compared with 
the fallow deer. Let the sportsman sing — 

My hearths in the Highlands, my heart is not here, 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chaning the deer ; 
A-chasing the deer and following the roe — 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go : 

but for the pleasure of the table give us neither a haunch 
of the red deer from Scotland, nor a Parisian mess of 
chevreuil — but English park venison ; and for any useful 
purpose that is all we need consider now. 

Haunch of Venison. — It is one of the immutable laws of 
gastronomy that if a haunch (also a shoulder or a neck) 
of venison is not fat, it is not worth the trouble of roasting ; 



480 Verjuice 

and if fat, all the art of the roaster is to be directed to 
nursing the fat. The venison is to be well kept — a 
fortnight at least, and when about to be cooked should be 
lightly sponged with warm water, and then dried with a 
cloth. Then lay over th^ fat a sheet of buttered writing- 
paper — which tie on and butter on the outside once more. 
Over this lay a paste of flour and water which has been 
rolled out about half an inch thick. Cover this again with 
two sheets of buttered paper, and tie all securely with 
twine. Lay the venison in a cradle-spit, before a strong, 
clear fire, and basting it constantly, let it roast for four 
hours. Twenty minutes before it is ready it must be 
unswathed. Baste the meat in every part with butter ; 
sprinkle some salt on it ; dredge in a little flour; and place 
it nearer the fire to brown and froth. Send it up to table 
as hot as possible, with brown gravy in a tureen, with 
currant jelly, and with a dish -of French beans for vegetable 
garnish. 

Veimon CJiops. — To be done like mutton chops, but. 
neither beaten nor trimmed of fat. Let them be peppered 
and salted, and turned every two minutes. They take 
twenty minutes to cook, and are served with a pat of 
butter under them. Currant jelly apart 

Venison Sauce. — Sweet: Black or red currant jelly 
melted in port wine. Sharp : Good brown gravy (if made 
of the venison itself so much the better), three gills ; red 
wine, one gill ; raspberry vinegar, half a gill. 

Verjuice. — The sour juice of the crab-apple or of sour 
grapes; much more used in France than in England, where 
an acid — as lemon-juice, sorrel, or vinegar — is wismted in 
cookery. For some purposes, indeed, it is better than 
lemon-juice — as, for example, in taking off^ the flatness of 
apples or pears, and adding to the sharpness of pies. 
Prepare it as follows : — Choose ripe crab-apples and lay 
them in a heap to sweat. Pick away the stalks and any 



Vermicelli 48 1 



signs of rottenness. Then mash the fruit and express the 
juice. Strain it, leave it to ferment, and in a month it 
will be ready for bottling. 

Vermicelli. — There are but three well-known instances 
in Western Europe of disrespectful names being given to 
the dainties of the table. The English call one of their 
preparations of beef " toad in the hole." The French try to 
give the appearance of a toad to their pigeons. And the 
Italians issue some of their best paste in the form and 
with the name of little worms. The poet Cowper tells, in 
one of his letters, how his servant gave some vermicelli 
soup to a poor beggar, who refused it with disgust, sayings 
" I am very poor and hungry ; but I am not able to eat 
maggots." Spite of its name, and because of its form^ 
this vermicelli is one of the most pleasant preparations of 
Italian paste. The fineness of form proves the fineness 
of paste, and makes it melt in the mouth. Yermicelli 
soup has accordingly, for many generations, been one of 
the most popular, as well as refined, soups in Europe ; 
and has done honour to that Italian genius which has 
produced so many masterpieces in sculpture, painting, 
and music. Its preparation is of the simplest. From a 
quarter to half a pound of vermicelli is broken gradually 
into hot water, and boiled in it for a few minutes. It is 
then added to and boiled for a few minutes more in a 
clear gravy, broth, or double broth. The same principle 
applies to macaroni and the other Italian pastes. If they 
are not boiled in water first before being added to the 
soup, they destroy its clearness. The French cooks some- 
times add asparagus points, or green peas, or sorrel leaves, 
or celery cut in the Julienne fashion. But these additions 
are of doubtful value. If the vermicelli is good, it 
ought to be enough of itself. The most fashionable 
addition to it is one upon which Talleyrand insisted as 
essential to all the macaroni soups. Serve it with grated 

31 



482 Vermouth 

Parmcflan cheeso in a (linh apart; and aftor it (|iinff a 
glaHB of Madeira or Solera sherry. 

Vermicelli Pudding^ wliich holds a place in Kn^linli 
cookery, is a mistake. The perfection of vermicelli is to 
be limp and moist, slipping on the tongue like a liciuid. 
In a pudding it becouu^s too firm and dry, and its li<]ui<l 
melody is lost. 

Vermouth is a wormwood wine, and so far difft^rs from 
Absinthe — which is an infusion of wormwood and allied 
j)lants in spirits. In Vcirmouth the wormwood is com- 
monly supposed to be infus<;d in a white Hungarian wine 
— St. George. Some of the Italian white wines — as Whit« 
Capri, or White Lachryma Christi — would do as well. 
See Wormwood. 

ViNATOiiETTK. — See Cruet. 

VlNECuii. — Said the prophet Mahomet, ^* If then* is no 
vinegar in a house it is a sin : there is no blessing neither.*' 
To the cook vin(»gar is far more tlian wine, though wine' 
also is much. I^(*arly all fnmli fish will take a dash of 
vinegar with advantage, either in the sauce wliieh accoui- 
])anies it, or in the liquor in which it is boiled. Most veg(«* 
tables are improved with acid, not only when tlujy ar« 
<Miten raw, as in salads, but when — like asparagus, cauli- 
iiowers, artichokes — they are prepared with a butter sauce 
for entreuM'ts. It is to be remembered, however, tliat tliere 
is a great difference in vinegars, so that it is difficult to be 
precise in naming quantities. Whitcj-wino vinegar is often 
very sharp ; red-wine less so ; malt vinegar is oftcm mild 
enough ; and there is sonu;times in hke manner a difference 
Ixjtwec^n lemons, according to the tree or awxjrding to the 
ripeness, which is nearly as well marked as the difference 
l>etween oranges. 

" Malt vinegar/' says Pereira, " consists of water, acetic 
acid, acetic ether; colouring matter, a peculiar organic 



Vinegar 483 

matter commonly denominated mucilage, a small portion of 

alcohol, and sulpbnric acid. Vinegar makers are allowed 

io add one-thousandth part by weight of sulphuric acid." 

But gorxl vinegar docs not require this addition. Perhaps 

the Prophet did not know that there was alcohol in vinegar 

when he gave it his blessing. Perhaps Sir Wilfrid Lawson 

and his friends of the Band of Hope will give up vinegar, 

and consume nothing but lemons, crabs, rhubarb, sorrel, 

and docks, when they know of the poison which flourishes 

in their cruets. 

Wine vinegar has much the same chemical constitution 

as malt. The white-wine sort is to be had everywhere ; 

but as it is difficult to procure the mild red-wine vinegar 

in London, it may l)e well to state that it will be found good 

at Perelli-Hocco's, Greek Street, Soho. 

Theflavoured vinegars ought to be well known. Tarragon 

vinegar plays a grand part in the kitchen, and at table it 

becomes important for a salad in the season when the 

tarragon leaf is not to be had. It is best to buy chili 

vinegar with the chilies in it — that is, to buy a bottle of 

West India chilies, to use the vinegar in which they are 

immersed, and to renew at need. Still better, anyone who 

has a garden can make these and other flavoured vinegars 

for himself. Put a few fresh tarragon leaves, or a few dozen 

fresh-gathered chilies, into a bottle of white-wine vinegar. 

In ten days the vinegar will be sufficiently charged with 

the flavour. And so for shalot, and for composite flavours. 

Vinegar is easily made for private use; and many English 

families in tlio shires delight in home-made 

Primrose Vineyar — for which take the following receipt. 
Boil six pounds of moist sugar in sixteen quarts of water for 
ten minutc^s, and carefully take off the scum. Then shake 
into it a peck of primroses, and before it is quite cold a little 
yoast. Let it ferment in a warm place all night.; then put 
it in a barrel, and keep it in a w^m part of the kitchen 



484 Vol-au-vent 



till it has done working. There should be an air-hole in the 
top of the barrel. It will take several weeks before the 
fermentation is at an end and the vinegar is quite fit for 

bottling. 

VoL-AU-VKNT is often made 'wdth great elaboration, and 
in that case had better be ordered from a professed pastry- 
cook. For a very simple vol^u-vent the following receipt 
may suffice. The explanation will be clearest if we take 
the small vol-au-vents, commonly called Petites Bouch^s 
(Little mouthfuls). Boll out some of the finest puff* paste 
(No. 8) to about a quarter of an inch in thickness. Cot 
out of it two circles, each the size of a crown piece. The 
one is to be put on the top of the other ; but before doing so 
two things are required: first, to cut a half-crown piece out 
of the topmost one, which will then be a half-crown with a 
ring round it ; next, to wet the lower piece all round its 
edge, so that the ring of the upper piece may adhere to it. 
When the two sheets thus joined are baked, they will 
together rise to the height of two inches. The half-crown 
piece will be loose in the middle; it can be lifted out, leaving 
a hollow; and it will form a lid for the small vol-au-vent. 
Fill the hollow with any of the ragouts — the Financial one 
and the Toulouse are most in favour. A large vol-au-vent 
is done in the same way — only that according to its size 
the paste is rolled out thicker — say half an inch. The 
ornamentation of the paste in the way of printing or 
cutting must be left to fancy. 




ALNUT. — When an Englishman thinks of a 
nut, it is the filbert or the cobnut which 
comes most readily into his fancy : the 
walnut is to him what its name signifies — a 
foreign nut. To the southern mces of Europe it is the nut 
of nuts. All the classical allusions which connect nuts and 



Waterzootje 485 



marriage have reference to the walnut. The nut was also 
supposed to be precious for its uses. Its oil was good for 
bald heads, for the painter's palette, for lamps, and for 
worms. I conclude that our ancestors must have been 
much troubled with worms — ^for the number of plants 
which they cultivated with a view to repelling the inroads 
of worms was extraordinary. The walnut not only cured 
worms ; it cured hydrophobia; and was such an antidote to 
poison that it was the chief ingredient of the remedy on 
which Mithridates relied. Then the timber of the tree 
was extremely valuable. This we can see still in house- 
hold furniture ; but the wood was especially set apart for 
gunstocks. The tree also has some pecuUar influence for 
good or for bad on the vegetation around it A walnut 
tree will kill the strawberry beds in its neighbourhood. 
On the other hand, it is said to be of some great benefit to 
field crops. Long ago, around Frankfort, a young farmer 
was never allowed to marry till he could prove that he had 
planted a certain number of walnut trees. It may bo 
added that between the 45th and 48th degree of latitude in 
France walnuts are more abundant than anywhere else in 
Europe. It is fit that in the chief wine country of the 
world ihe walnuts should increase and multiply. The 
French are, however, backward in one respect : they do not 
80 much as the EngUsh appreciate the cooked, that is the 
pickled, walnut — the most simple of condiments and one of 
the most distinguished. 

Waterzootje — a term of Dutch origin for the most 
simple way of dressing fish. It is used either for the 
smaller fish, as slips and Thames flounders ; or for the 
larger fish, as salmon cut into small pieces. The fish must 
have a delicate flavour of their own to come well out of 
this process, which consists of boiling them in some small 
stock or court bouillon, and of serving them up in this 
liquor, to which a few sprigs and sometimes roots of 



486 Welsh Rabbit 



parsley may be added. Boiled fish are usually eaten with 
a sauce of some character. In this case the fish are eaten 
with a dessert-spoon and a fork in their own liquor. The 
favourite fish eaten at Greenwich in this way are Thames 
flounders. Francatelli will have it that the best of all fish 
for waterzootje is the char. 

The zooije is always eaten with thin slices of brown 
bread and butter. 

Welsh RABBiT.-rLet the Welsh tell their own tale in 
the words of Lady Llanover : — ** Welsh toasted cheese and 
the melted cheese of England are as difierent in the mode 
of preparation as is the cheese itself ; the one being only 
adapted to strong digestions, and the other being so easily 
digested that the Hermit frequently gave it to his invalid 
patients when they were recovering from illness. Cut a 
slice of the real Welsh cheese, made of sheep and cow's 
milk ; toast it at the fire on both sides, but not so much 
as to drop ; toast a piece of bread less than a quarter of 
an inch thick, to be quite crisp, and spread it very thinly 
with fresh cold butter on one side (it must not be saturated 
'vvith butter) ; then lay the toasted cheese upon the bread, 
and serve immediately on a very hot plate. The butter on 
the toast can of course be omitted if not liked, and it is 
more frequently eaten without butter." 

It is quite intelligible that one cheese should be more 
wholesome than another ; but that there is any marked 
difference in digestibility between cheese toasted and cheese 
melted or stewed, it is difficult to believe. 

In case the wandering Englishman should suddenly feel 
in his travels a sort of home-sickness, and desire to partake 
' of Welsh rabbit, let it be known that in Viard's cookery 
book, which has a great reputation, the receipt is quite 
correctly given ; and that on this authority the said 
Englishman may safely call either for Wouelche Rabette, 
or for Lapin Gallois. 



Wheatears^ or Fallowchat 487 



Westphalia Hams are exceedingly good — ^perhaps 
better than ever they were ; but yet, and but yet — they are 
not what they were. They made a name for themselves in 
Europe, being hams of the wild boar. They were among 
hams what game is among other flesh. They are so no 
longer. They have lost their distinctive quality. It does 
not follow that they are less to be desired : they are indeed 
still so good that the Grermans eat them raw, and think it a 
desecration to cook them. This of course implies that they 
are well smoked, and that they are cooked enough by 
fumigation. 

Wheatears, or Fallowchat, is a pleasant little bird 
which is found to be very satisfactory at the end of the 
Lordon season, while we are still waiting for the grouse and 
the partridges. It winters on the shores of the Mediterra- 
nean, but comes over to England to breed in mid-March. 
Alighting on our southern coasts, it spreads itself over the 
British Islands, even to Orkney and Shetland. When the 
breeding season is over, then is the time to catch it with 
advantage. This is not only because we are disposed to 
give all birds their freedom while they have families depend- 
ent on them; but also, and chiefly, it is on their return 
south that the wheatears can be caught in sufficient num- 
bers to make it worth while to pursue them. Towards the 
end of July old birds and young ones, fat and plump, begin 
to collect on the Sussex downs, meaning to cross the Channel 
in search of their winter homes. On St. Jameses day, the 
25th of July, the shepherds of the South Downs begin to 
set nooses and lay traps for them. All the traps and 
nooses are ready by the Ist of August. One shepherd has 
been known to catch a thousand birds in a day. He can 
easily catch five hundred. And this system of ensnaring 
goes on till the third week in September, when the birds 
have nearly all left. Each bird is supposed to be worth a 
penny to the shepherd. At least, Southey tells the story 



488 Whey 

of one of the amiable minor poets, Hurdis, who used to let 
the birds out of the traps which he found in his walks, but 
always left a penny in place of each, to soothe the disap- 
pointment of the shepherds. A penny is not much to give 
for a bird which has been honoured with the name of the 
English ortolan. It is needless to say that in Leadenhall 
Market, and in the hotels of the Sussex watering places, 
the little birds, generally sold by the dozen, are charged 
a good deal more than a penny apiece. They are mightily 
prized in the end of summer, when winged fowl, with the 
exception of the heroes and heroines of the barn-door, 
are scarce at our tables ; and they are to be treated as 
larks. 

As to the name of the bird, — which is not wheatear, but 
wheatears, — ^it must be enough to say that it has nothing 
to do with wheat, nor with any kind of ear, whether of 
com or of bird. In a very old cookery book — ^that of 
La Varenne — the name of the bird is given as Thiastias. 
What does it mean ? 

Whey. — " The whey of milk is the opalescent liquor 
from which the curd has been removed in making cheese. 
Although not highly nutritious, it still holds a little caseine 
in solution, as well as the sugar and saline matter of the 
milk. It is rarely used as food even by the poor, but it is 
given to pigs. In Switzerland, however, it is considered 
to have medicinal virtues, especially for the cure of chronic 
disorders of the abdominal organs ; and the treatment 
which is sometimes fashionable goes by the name of ctire de 
petit lait. There is a popular notion that the whey of milk 
is sudorific ; and hence we have our wine whey, cream-of- 
tartar whey, alum whey, tamarind whey, etc., when the 
milk has been curdled by these several substances." — 
Dr. Henry Letlieby. 

White. — The use of this word is so frequent in cookery 



Whitebaii 489 



that though it has Iseen many times explained, it may be 
well to define it here again. It is no donbt often used to 
denote a positive whiteness produced by any pleasant 
pigment of almonds, milk, rice, or flour ; but it means 
chiefly a negation — ^the absence of browning produced by 
cooking at a high temperature. This high temperature 
roasts ; and roasting produces at once colour and flavour. 
A white soup, a white sauce, a white stew, is one produced 
at a temperature which never exceeds the boiling point, 
and therefore never bums or browns. 

Whitebait. — Our ignorance of whitebait is odd. The 
controversies that have arisen as to whence the whitebait 
eomes are as interminable, curious and furious, as those 
concerning whither the lost Ten Tribes have gone. No- 
body seems to know. It is said that the Scotch, with 
their banking propensities, their love of the Sabbath, and 
their aversion to pigs and eels, are the lost Ten Tribes ; 
and on much the same evidence it is proved that whitebait 
are the fry of the common herring. It was for a long 
time supposed that whitebait, which come up the Thames 
as far as Blackwall, are the young of that fresh-water 
herring — the shad, which also comes thus far up the river. 
They were then proved to be quite distinct from the fry of 
the shad. It was next insisted that they were a distinct 
species of herring. It was afterwards pointed out that 
whitebait have never been found with roe ; and therefore 
they must be young. It is now declared that they are the 
infant progeny of the common herring, with all the manners 
of the parent fish save this — that they travel up the Thames 
to haunts which their ancestors, if they were ever there, no 
longer seem to approve of. 

To dress the whitebait : — 1. First of all, strew some 
flour upon a cloth. I observe that some of the receipts 
speak of egg. Have nothing to do therewith. Flour is 
enough. 



490 Whitebait 



2. Take the whitebait out of the water with your 
hands, and drain them through your fingers. Some of the 
receipts warn you not to handle them. This is nonsense. 
The object of the warning is to prevent the hands from 
warming the fish ; but they need not be held long enough 
in the hand to do so. 

3. When they are drained throw them on the flour in 
the cloth. 

4. Let them roll in the flour, by shaking the corners of 
the cloth successively. They will not stick together if they 
are fresh. 

5. Pass them on to a large wooden sieve, to get rid of 
superfluous flour. 

6. Put them into a wire frying-basket 

7. Dip the basket into a frying-kettle of very hot beef- 
fat. This point is important Many of the receipts say 
lard — which is a mistake. Nothing so good as ox-kidney 
fat 

8. There let them rest for three minutes upon the fire 
motionless. At the end of that time give them a light 
shake, though without taking them out of the fat In half 
a minute more perhaps another shake. 

9. Four minutes — at most five — of the hot fat ought 
be enough for them, for they must not be allowed to 
to brown. 

10. Take them out of the frying-kettle, and while they 
are still in the basket sprinkle salt over them. Give them 
a shake and then another sprinkle. 

11. They are now ready for table, ihey ought to be 
slightly crisp, and they are to be served with brow^n 
bread and butter and quarters of lemon. 

To devU whitebaU. — The proper process is at No. 10, 
to sprinkle it either with red or black pepper — whichever 
is preferred — along with the salt. But it is one of the 
tricks of the trade to take whitebait which has been already 



Whiiing 49 1 

cooked ; to sprinkle it with pepper, then to dip it a second 
time in the frying-kettle, and lastly to put a fresh sprink- 
ling of pepper upon it. 

White Wine Sauce. — Strictly speaking there is really 
no such distinct sauce. The phrase, however, is a convenient 
one for the mode of working up the liquor in which a sole 
has been boiled into a pleasant condiment. The sole thus 
prepared is called Sole au vin blanc (Sole with white wine) ; 
and a description of it will be found in the article allotted 
to Sole. 

Whiting. — When we think of a whiting we generally 
see in vision a little fish golden-brown from the frying-pan, 
with his tail in his mouth — the symbol of eternity. The 
symbol is justified in this : that he is everlasting at the 
dinner-table ; and if he does not appear at dinner, it is 
probably because he did duty at breakfast. In truth, the 
whiting deserves this favour, being an exceedingly delicate 
little fish — the delight of invalids, who can enjoy him when 
they can digest little else. If the whiting is bad, be it 
poor or coarse, take for granted in most cases that it is no 
true whiting. There are myriads of codlings and pollacks 
sold for the true silver whiting. Codlings have a barbel ; 
whitinofs have none. Pollacks have the under jaw pro- 
jecting beyond the upper one ; whitings project the upper 
jaw beyond the lower one. Putting out of account the 
month of January, when the whiting spawns, it may be 
assumed, eleven months of the year, that a bad whiting is 
a codling or a pollack. 

However good a whiting may be, it is absurd to boil 
him: half the taste is boiled out of him. In any stew, too, 
he is overpowered by the taste of the sauce. If we really 
mean to taste the whiting, he must be either fried or broiled. 
The French fry him with his skin on, his sides gashed and 
dusted with flour ; but there is no better way than that 
common in England, where the Uttle animal is skinned^ 



492 Widgeon 

takes his tail in his mouth to sjTnbolize eternity, and then, 
after a dainty roll in egg, fine breadcrumb and flour, 
disports himself in the frying-pan. For broiling him there 
are two good ways of arranging his toilet. Leave him in 
his skin, split him do>vn the back, and after dusting hkn 
well with flour, put him on the grill. The worst of this 
method is that he is apt to fall in pieces, and especially if 
any attempt is made to get rid of his backbone. Much 
the best way of grilling him is in the Scotch fashion of 
rizzared haddock. (See Haddock.) A rizzared whiting is 
so good, that those who have been initiated into its mystery 
have been known to be content with nothing else for break- 
fast all the rest of their lives thereafter. 

Fillets of Whiting au gratin. — A delicate little dish, 
done in the same way as the sole, or. rather the fillets of 
sole au gratin. 

A TF/ii^fw^PttdA'n<7 is served at Greenwich dinners; but 
beware of it — touch it not : it is only a sponge intended 
to wipe from the palate the impressions produced' by one 
dish of fish in order to prepare for another. 

A Quenelle of Whiting is a difierent thing, and is often 
used with great effect in the embellishment of other fish. 
(See Quenelle.) 

Widgeon. — It will not do to inquire too curiously into 
the food of all the animals we eat. It may be painful to 
reflect that the hogs of Montanches which yield the most 
superb hams are fed on vipers ; that ducks dabble in the 
glitter ; that woodcocks live on earthworms ; that a whole 
family of snipes nouriah themselves on Father long-legs ; 
and that red mullets are caught wkere they find their 
victuals, beneath the mackerel shoals. But there is no fear 
of our being shocked by the diet of the widgeon. It is a 
nice little bird, whidi feeds wholly on the short sweet 



Wild Duck 493 



grass beloved by the goose. It is for this reason in 
Lapland called the grass-duck. The nature of its food is 
perfectly well ascertained ; because, unlike its congeners 
the mallard or wild duck, the poachard and the teal, which 
feed by night, it feeds by day, and seems to have no great 
fear of the human race. It comes to us from the north in 
the end of September, and remains till the beginning of 
April. 

As a rule it is understood that winged game should be 
underdone ; but with regard to wild-fowl the rule is 
expressed in very strong terms — that the fowl should see 
the fire and no more. It is obvious that this fashion will 
not suit everybody's taste. Much or little, the widgeon is 
to be roasted before a brisk, bright fire, and to be sent to 
table with a crisp surface, with crusts or toast, and con- 
voyed by a boatful of orange gravy sauce. Sometimes 
only the fillets are served, with the pinions attached. In 
this case they come to table piping hot in a bath of orange 
gravy. 

Wild Duck used to be called Mallard, but receives its 
present name out of respect for our friends of the horse- 
pond, whose forefather it is supposed to be. As such, the 
wild duck is like nothing else that comes to our table, 
unless it be the rabbit of the warren and the wild boar. 
When we taste the tame duck of Rouen, or a rabbit of the 
hatch, we are tasting civilization : when we put the breast 
of the wild duck into our mouths, or a fihoulder of the 
rabbit from the sand-burrow, we are embracing savage life 
and enjoying nature. Let the philosopher say which is 
best In the case of the rabbit there can be no doubt : the 
wild coney is beyond the tame one. But the superiority of 
the wild duck over the civilised one is by no means esta- 
blished. A duckling with green peas is indeed one of the 
triumphs of civilisation; and none of your "flappers" (the 
name given to wild ducklings) can approach it Still there 



494 Woodcock 



is an imposing minority who vote for wild duck — especially 
if it is of their own shooting. The worst of the wild duck, 
however, and its congeners, is that they are apt to have a 
fishy flavour ; though where this flavour comes from it is 
difficult to say. The widgeon, for example, is known to 
feed wholly or almost wholly on grass ; and yet it has 
often a strong fishy taste. It is to get rid of this gross- 
ness that wild fowl are sometimes stuffed with sage and 
onions and other high and mighty principles. On the 
whole, however, it has been discovered that stuffing is a 
useless excess. The only stuffing that may be allowed is 
plain crumb of bread well soaked in port or other red 
^wine. Let the roasting of the duck be as rapid as his 
flight — before a brisk fire on a jack that revolves with 
quick music. Let him come up to table with a crisp, 
brown surface, suggesting hot haste ; but inwardly — for 
the epicure — he must be underdone. His sauce is orange 
gravy. 

I have spoken of him — the drake, who indeed fetches 
a higher price than> the duck. But as a rule the duck is 
better. 

Woodcock. — The muse has sung the praises of the 
woodcock in the following exalted strain : — 

If partridge had the woodcock'B thighs, 
'Twould be the noblest bird that flies ; 
If woodcock had the partridge breast, 
'Twould be the best bird ever drest. 

Tastes differ ; and a good many persons have been heard to 
say that a woodcock and a partridge rolled into one are not 
equal to a grouse of prime condition. In one respect, 
however, the woodcock and his little cousin, the snipe — 
he himself being a sort of snipe, a scolopax — is more 
honoured than any other species of game. He is never 
drawn, and every morsel of him is eaten, to the last entrail. 



Woodcock 495 



The first dainty bit to begin wdth is the head, which is a 
glory in itself, and well-nigh worthy of a nimbus. Then 
for the rest of the bird, — the wing is something too good, 
and this is excellence in the positive degree ; comparative, 
the thigh is finer ; superlative, nothing can surpass the 
trail. What a tribute is this to the woodcock's diet of 
worms 1 He will eat in a day double his own weight of 
worms, — and when we enjoy a woodcock even to his trail, 
we ought always to give some of our love and gratitude to 
those worms to which we must all come at last — to eat or to 
be eaten. The woodcock comes all the way from Norway 
to eat them in the end of autumn ; and he goes on eating 
them here till he departs in March — though a few of his 
kind stay on and breed among us. 

It has been above stated that the woodcock is never 
drawn. This is quite true in theory ; but in practice one 
of two things occurs. The usual way of roasting the bird is 
to wrap him in a slice of bacon, which is to be tied round 
him with a thread ; to place under him some toast, and to 
hang him tail downwards before the fire. As he revolves, 
and is basted, and enjoys the heat, the trail will drop out 
upon the toast beneath, and is to be spread equally over it 
when served. It is sometimes, however, found convenient 
to roast the bird in a different way — resting in a Dutch- 
oven, or even in a casserole. In this case he is to be half- 
done, and then the trail is to be taken out of him and to be 
used as follows, all except the gizzard : — Pound it in a 
mortar with about half its volume of bacon-fat, a little 
chopped shalot, some crumb of bread, salt and pepper. 
Spread this upon toast ; let it roast or bake by the side 
of the woodcock for the remainder of his time, which is 
from twenty to thirty minutes ; and let it be served under 
him with a lemon in quarters at his side. For sauce, 
mix a little good beef gravy with the butter which has 
basted him, and serve it apart ; or take an orange gravy. 
Furthermore, it is to be remembered that the woodcock 



496 Wbodsorrel 



is si^pposed to b^ the best of birds for the Bemardin 

Salmi. 

WOODSORREL. — That this trefoil is the shamrock which 
excited the devotional feelings of St. Patrick when he 
landed in Ireland, is shown by the fact that one of the 
names for it throughout the west of Europe/in Italy, Spain, 
France, as well as England, is Allelujah. This name was 
corrupted in Italy and in England into Lujula ; in the 
south of Italy it was corrupted either from or into Giuliola, 
and in France it appears as Julienne, whence the name of 
the well-known soup. The woodsorrel {oxalis acetosella)^ is 
now little used in cookery — being replaced by the more 
abundant, but also less delicate dock or common sorrel, 
which as a Rumex belongs to a different family. See the 
chapter on Julienne. 

Wormwood was a good deal used in England to flavour 

and to preserve beer, before hops were known. Hops were 
introduced in 1524, and encountered much opposition — a 
petition having been presented to Parliament, in 1528, in 
which they are called "a wicked weed." They prevailed, 
however ; and wormwood went gradually out of use in this 
country, notwithstanding the supposed virtue which its 
name indicates. There are three related shrubs — wormwood, 
southernwood, and tarragon {Artemisia Absinthiunij Arte- 
misia Abrotanum, and Artemisia Dracunculus) — ^all more 
or less narcotic. Now, here is an odd thing : that whereas 
tarragon is still much used in diet, though it has never 
pretended to any remarkable virtues beyond its fine 
flavour, its friends of greater pretensions — wormwood, 
renowned as a vermifuge, and southernwood, which in the 
form of southernwood tea was much drunk by women to 
prevent hysteria and other feminine maladies — in England, 
at least, passed almost entirely out of common account, and 
arc cared for only by herbalists and druggists. On the 



Yorkshire Pie Any 



Continent, however, the distillers have seized upon them 
and continue to proclaim their renown in the two liqueurs 
— Absinthe and Vermouth. 




ORKSHIRE PIE. — Yorkshire has won so 
much glory by reason, of its pudding, that 
it has some claim to our attention when it 
offers us a pie. What is sold in the Italian 
warehouse undei; this name is but a galantine packed in 
terrines of different sizes. The true Yorkshire pie is made 
as follows, and is one of the most noble features of an 
English Christmas : — Bone a goose and a large fowl Fill 
the latter with a stuffing made of minced ham or tongue 
veal, suet, parsley, pepper, salt, and two eggs ; or for a 
more highly-seasoned stuffing say — minced ham, veal 
suet, onion, sweet-herbs, lemon-peel, mixed spices, cayenne, 
salt, worked into a paste with a couple of eggs. . Sew up 
the fowl, truss it, and stew it for twenty minutes aloncr 
with the goose in some good stock, and in a close stewpan. 
Put the fowl within the goose, and place the goose in a 
pie-mould which has been lined with good hot-water paste. 
Let the goose repose on a cushion of stuffing, and in the 
midst of the liquor in which he has been stowed. Surround 
him in the pie with slices of parboiled tongue and pieces 
of pigeon, partridge, or hare. Fill the vacancies with 
more stuffing ; put on a good layer of butter ; roof it with 
paste ; bake it for three hours ; and consume it either hot 
or cold. These pies are sometimes made of enormous size, 
containing every variety of poultry and game, one within 
another and side by side. A Christmas pie of this kind, 
going from Sh3lKo.d in 1832 as a tribute to the then 

32 



498 Yorkshire Pudding 



Lord Chancellor Krougham, broke down by reasoTi of its 
weight. 

This pie remind?? otle of what Alexandre Diima^ 
regarded as his culinary triuntph-^the IVfonte Christo 
anchovy. Put the anchovy into an olive, the olive into a 
lark, the lark into a quail, the quail into a pheasant, the 
pheasant into a tarkey, the turkey into a sucking-pig. 
Roast it for three hours. Then peel off layer after layer, 
throwing all out of the window, — save the anchovy, for 
which everything is^ to be sacrificed. 

Yorkshire PiiDmN^G. — Of all the E^nMIsh counties 
Yorkshire has contrived, with the rare spirit of adventure 
and mother-wit which belongs to tlrft Yorkshireman in all 
his dealings, to take the foremost place for cookery in the 
estimation of the world. It may be that this is the result 
more of accident than of taste. It is^ diffifcult to believe \A 
the taste of a province which eats mustard with apple pie \ 
still the culinary reputation of the shire is a fact. The 
Yorkshire ham is rivalled b}' the Cheshire cheese in re- 
nown. All over Europe the Shesterre is known as well 
as the jambon dTTorck. But these are not properly the 
achievements of the kitchen. Wherever the roast beef of 
Old England is heard of, there the Yorkshire pudding fs 
known ; and nothing like this can be said of any other 
English county. 

Take an equal number of eggs and of large table- 
spoonfuls of flour. Whisk the eggs well, mix them 
gradually with the flour, add salt with a trifle of nutmeg, 
and pour in as much new milk as will reduce the batter 
to the consistence of cream. Work the batter vigorouslr 
for ten* minutes, to make it light, and then at once pour it 
into a baking-tin, which must be very hot, with two ounces 
of dripping in it. Set the pudding to bake before the fire 
under the roast meat for about half an hour before it is 
taken up ; and when it is ready, cut it into squares and 



Zesl 499 

send it to table on a dish by itself. This is the true 
Yorkshire method — the puddino: being only half aa^ inch 
thick, and not turned in the baking. But in most other 
cotinties the plan is to- make, the pudding an inch thick, 
and either to turn it on the baking-tin or to turn it out of 
one baking-tin on to another, in order to brown it on both 
sides. If the meat is not roasted but baked, the pudding 
may still be placed under it, the meat resting upon a tripod 
in the middle of the baking-tin. 




EBU, the Indian ox with a sacred hump on his 
back, which is the pinnacle of beef — supra- 
mundane — ^hefivenly — not to be eaten. When 
beef becomes a god, who dare devour him ? 
"Who will make broth out of Jupiter Bos, and turn the 
Brahminee bull into toad in the hole ? Yet something like 
it has been done t — 

The Egyptian rites the Jebusites embraced, 
XVliere gods were recommended by the taste ; 
Such savoury deities must needs be good, 
As served at once for worship and for food. 

Zest — the pungent yellow on the surface of oranges 
and lemons ; the bitter skin of the walnut ; anything with 
a penetrating taste. But such is the vanity of human 
happiness, that whereas we use the word zest to signify 
whatever gives relish to life, the French use it not only for 
this, but for very nothingness. Zest ! Fiddlesticks 1 It 
has been stated, and it ought to be true if it is not, that a 
German author has written a great book on the zest of an 
orange— *tie all and the nothing. 



.5CX) . Zaotje 

ZooTJE — a Dutcjh word as near vas possible in root and 
in meaning to the English Seethed. All honour to the 
inhabitants of sea and river that can afford to make our 
acquaintance not dressed in the royal robes of curious 
sauces> but in the naked simplicity of the bath in ^rhich 
they have swum over the fire I Their advent at our 
tables in a vehicle of water is so creditable to them, and 
so unusual, that it is always signalised in the name of 
Waterzootje. 



FINIS 



Hazell, Watoon, and Viney, PrintarB, London and AylMbuiy. 



Notes •. 



Notes 



Notes 



N'otes 



i